Metal Gear: Bloody Hands
by Uboa
Summary: A companion story to ShardclawKusanagi's "Children of Evangelion." Garland Durev's final mission as a mercenary, and the resulting events that brought him into FOX-HOUND. (COMPLETED!)
1. Foreword: Campfire Tales

Disclaimer: I do not own Metal Gear Solid; it belongs to Konami. I do not own Neon Genesis Evangelion; it's Gainax's. Please don't sue me. 

**Author's Babble:** Greetings, fellow readers and writers. What you are reading now is a companion story to ShardclawKusanagi's Metal Gear Solid: Children of Evangelion. The reason why this particular story does not star Solid Snake, Raiden, or any of the usual characters in Metal Gear is because this is about my character, Garland Durev, now a character in "COE." (Go read it. It's good. Trust me.) I must admit, this is my first fanfiction ever, but I am no newbie of FF.net. I encourage and welcome all reviews, be it good, bad, helpful and harmful, and even flames—they make me a better writer. I encourage everyone to do so. A warning to you all however: this story includes detailed descriptions of death, mutilation, and brief nudity. Curses as well.

Ahh. My apologies. I have kept you long enough.

Without further ado, I present to you…

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

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**Foreword: Campfire Tales**

            Big Boss

            Grey Fox

            Psycho Mantis

            Liquid Snake

            Solid Snake

            FOX-HOUND

            These names invoke stories of legendary feats that no other could match. Within military and mercenary circles, such tales are told to teach, to entertain, and to give reason for getting better.

            Men describe the Perfect Soldier, Big Boss, and the accomplishments he achieved. They tell tales of the power and ferocity of the late psychic terror, Psycho Mantis, the dream robber. The intellect and cleverness of Liquid Snake are revered by the military minds. Among the old are narratives of the only man to attain the rank of Fox: Frank Jaeger, Gray Fox.

            And they tell of the man who defeated them all. Three Metal Gears have fallen to this legendary soldier, the "inferior one" of the _Les Enfants Terribles_. A mind strong enough to break through the illusions cast by Psycho Mantis, a body tough enough to defeat Big Boss in combat, and a will great enough to live though the betrayal and deaths of his friends, and continuing his mission, even when the entire world is against him. The man who can make the impossible, possible.

            But this is not about Solid Snake.

            A lesser known, but equally feared entity is whispered only by the few that have witnessed it. An unstoppable force of incredible fury, merciless hatred, and unparalleled viciousness, it is obvious why even the toughest spines quiver in fear.

            Only a small number of people know and understand the reality behind the stories, that there are no exaggerations, no half-truths, and no lies. What they saw matched exactly as the lore said.

            Entire armies decimated by a single man, with crimson eyes and bloodstained hands. A face warped by hatred and bloodlust, and a heart-stopping roar. Survivors remember only the fear and terror.

            Bullets had no effect. Grenade explosions were shrugged off. Rockets were dodged easily and sometimes even deflected. It seemed nothing could stop this fiend, not even a tank (the tank had its barrel bent about forty-five degrees off course, its machine gun ripped off, and the access hatch torn off; the crew was found to be eradicated by severe blunt trauma).

            A monster of incredible strength, blinding speed, and uncontrolled fury, such a story was usually told to green soldiers to scare them and give a reason to train hard. That is, until they meet the real thing.

            Held back by a barrier of mental focus and will, the demon sleeps within the heart and soul of one man. Heavy stress and trauma shatter the wall containing the dark force, and when the Berserker is released, everyone runs.

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A/N: Have I mentioned that trying to upload Word documents onto FF.net is a BITCH to do? My bold won't stay…


	2. Chapter 1: Just Like Any Other Day

Disclamer: See the Foreword.

**Author's Babble:** I wonder, if this story is any good? I write for the fun of it, and to please readers, but I won't write if there's no one to read it, or if the only readers are people that dislike my style. Please review and tell me your opinions on this.

I'm sorry, I'm holding you back again…

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands **

Written by Tempest Dynasty 

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**Chapter 1: Just Like Any Other Day **

August 29, 2006

Seattle-2, Washington

5:05 AM, PST

            The phone rang.

            Bleary eyes snapped open, quickly adjusting to the miniscule amount of light filtering into his apartment. God, how he hated the phone. Each time the damn thing rung, his ire would increase. Not so much as to trigger the rage, but enough to annoy the holy hell out of him. 

            The phone rang again.

            It was not only that. Only a few times it would be an important call, be it from an employer, a friend, or one of his business associates. Other times it would be those hellish telemarketers. But he had to pick up the phone, because he needed to know who was on the other line. Caller ID be damned; the machine filtered calls so well it lost him more jobs than ever.

            A third ring, echoing through the dimly lit room.

            What annoyed him the most was getting ripped from sleep by a phone call. Yawning and banishing the fog around his senses, he sat up on his twin-sized bed, swinging his legs out of the warm blue covers and hanging them over the edge. As he rubbed his face to speed up the awakening process, the phone rang for a fourth time.

            "Won't go away, will you?" the question was aimed towards the infernal contraption. Picking up the receiver, he spoke in a way only a tired, drowsy, and irate man could. "Whoever this is, you had better have a damn good reason for calling me at five AM in the fucking morning."

            "Relax, my friend, it is eight o' clock here. I apologize for not considering the time discrepancies, but I can make up for this with a tantalizing offer," a Russian-accented voice came through.

            "Nikita. Calling from the East Coast now? Whatever. What have you got for me?"

            "A man I know in the government requires your services. It seems there are remnants of genetically altered soldiers near Alaska that require extermination. Sending in armed forces is too public, air strikes are too loud, and Special Forces will make too much of a hassle if anyone dies."

            "What about the black ops?"

            "Again, too much of a hassle. You remember Shadow Moses, don't you?"

            "You want to send me where?! Shadow Moses?! How the hell did it survive Second Impact? Who's the guy asking for this?"  The same could have been asked about Seattle. In actuality, the original city of Seattle was destroyed during Second Impact, and using the same technology used to rebuild Tokyo, Seattle-2 was born.

            "It is a phenomenon, that the island came off with a only a large wave crashing into it. I am afraid I cannot disclose the employer's information, my friend. Now let me continue. Your potential employer desires the elimination of the Genome soldiers, and in complete secrecy. When black-op soldiers arrive, they must find all the soldiers dead."

            "That still leaves many questions."

            "You worry too much, Garland Durev. But it is all right, I shall explain the mission details."

            "Hold up. Let me get my PDA."

            "As you wish."

            The apartment the mercenary lived it was Spartan, consisting of only a bedroom, small kitchen, living room, and study. Small but efficient, the man lived by his personal beliefs: Live with what you need, not what you want. However, boredom often overrode the belief. A modest television set with stereo system adorned a wall in the living room, and a video game system was hooked up. Passing through the living room and through a second door, he entered the study. It was here where most of his "work" was done: a state-of-the-art laptop and Palm Pilot that received most of his employment opportunities, weapon rack with his personal weapons, namely a customized 9mm SIG Sauer P228, locker that contained his combat suit and gear, and finally, a monstrous German zweihander, _Sonata_, that was handed down the German side of his family for many years.

Grabbing the PDA, he picked up the phone inside the study.

            "Okay, Nik. Get on with it."

            "Very well. Now, you must understand, Durev, that it was extremely difficult for me to acquire this information. Ever since that incident with your…anger issues, many potential employers are reluctant in hiring you. In fact, I believe that should the incident repeat itself, you may have to look elsewhere for employment, outside of the mercenary ring."

            "Shut up. I hate losing my cool; you know that. It's bad enough that I'm constantly reminded of my blunder by my lack of important mail. Now, are you going to tell me the mission or not?"

            "Of course. Tomorrow at nine, there will be a flight to Alaska at the Tacoma International Airport, Flight 484. You will be given a Coach class plane ticket for it. When you arrive, a vehicle will be supplied. Take it to Nome. It may be a long ride, but I am sure you can handle it. At Nome, search for a man named Bryan Green. He will be your guide to reach Shadow Moses. When you arrive to Shadow Moses, there will be around thirty to thirty-five Genome soldiers for you to take out." There was a pause. "A word of caution, my friend: even though the initial attack has disabled much of the internal networking, there are still many cameras, motion detectors, and working machines. Use utmost caution when moving around the facility. Oh yes, before I forget: majority of the soldiers are believed to be in the first portion of the facility, where the tank room is and such."

            "That's good and all, but how do I get out?" such a vital question, because a planned escape usually meant survival.

            "Unfortunately, because of the nature of the mission, and the fact it is Shadow Moses, we will be unable to have an escape plan prepared for you as of now. Too much involvement will cause suspicion. You will have to get out on your own. Oh yes, you have twenty-four hours in which to complete your objectives after the mission clock hits twelve o'clock AM tomorrow night."

            "You're not making this any easier. What's the pay?"

            "$20,000."

            "Only that much?"

            "They are very afraid of you, my friend. It is the most I could negotiate."

            "Right, and how much do you get?"

            "I am given a separate pay. It is not important how much it is. Besides the fact, I have given you all the information you require."

            The half-dressed man sighed, "Okay. Anything else, just call me."

            "Will do. Ah yes, Durev. This is a very black operation; no one must survive with the knowledge anything happened, and everything must be kept as quiet as possible. No explosions, please."

            "Alright, Nik. See you," and he hung up.

            The mercenary had roughly twenty-four hours to prepare, so he decided to put off the work until later. Dressing in his usual dark blue jeans, white undershirt, and black silk button-up t-shirt, he was about to step out for breakfast when a rapid and loud beeping sound echoed forth from his bedroom.

            Stepping into his room, he saw that his phone was off the hook. Cursing his forgetfulness, the phone was slammed into its cradle and another crack was left in its shell. Finally, the mercenary could go get some breakfast.

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            On the roof of an apartment complex, one man stood motionless. Shirtless and covered with sweat, he wore only a black BDU pants and old combat boots. A warm breeze gently flowed over the tense muscles, toned and chiseled from years of training.

            A daily warm-up for Durev consisted of running around his neighborhood once, a feat that totaled in about five miles. Once his blood got pumping, he would leap from the ground to the roof of his apartment, using the ledges offered by windows and porches to climb his way up. He did not do this to show off, but rather cause a sense of danger and excitement for his body to react to. 

            His training continued with a grueling and forceful practice with dummies, heavy weights, and katas. Occasionally, Durev would visit local martial art dojos to spar with students and teachers, and he would also visit the more secluded martial artists, ones with significantly more skill than the average Karate shop.

            He stood there a moment longer, before launching into a fury of formless strikes. Punches and kicks swarmed in the air, creating a beautiful yet destructive dance of death. It began as a squall, violent and powerful, then slowed down into an ocean breeze, slow and relaxing. However, Jeet Kune Do did not concentrate solely in unarmed strikes. It included various holds, chokes, throws, and counters. In combat, he is exactly what Jeet Kune Do is about: simple, direct, and free, not opposing force, nor giving way to it; always moving, never staying, absorbing the useful and rejecting the useless. Adaptability is one of the strong points in the art, changing techniques and strategies instantly based on what the opponent does. There were no real masters or ultimate form in Jeet Kune Do—you constantly strive to improve yourself. When he finished his unarmed combat, he moved on to weapons training.

            First was the knife, a simple foot-long dagger style high carbon steel blade and sharkskin grip. The hilt was simple: a thin, flat, but sturdy piece of metal. His time with other mercenaries and in the military gave him high skill with the blade; it was a weapon he used often in missions, as it killed quickly and cleanly. Durev himself used a simple technique with knives: strike fast and hard where it hurts, no specials or style.

            His second blade was his German heritage: the zweihander named _Sonata_. With a wide and heavy steel blade, it was lethal to everyone within Durev's strike zone. The sheer weight and power of the sword cut through any defense, and its long reach keeps opponents on their toes. For such power, speed and agility are sacrificed, as the large weapon was clumsy and difficult to wield even with two hands. However, Durev's intense training regimen combined with constant practice allowed him to swing the sword as if it was an extension of his body. Clearly, from the graceful forms and flawless execution, he was a master with the blade.

            By the time he was finished, it was dinnertime.

            "Huh. Seven already? Might as well shower then visit Andy," he muttered to himself, referring to the owner and head chef of a famous local restaurant. Wait, no, he couldn't. Tomorrow was a mission and he needed sleep. Might as well go in and prepare.

            Entering his study and opening his locker, he pulled out the required equipment.

            His main weapons, his knife and his trusty P228, were cleaned, loaded and placed into their respective holsters. An extra set of clothing was prepared for the plane ride and drive; being in a tight combat suit and gear in a public setting was stupid and far too suspicious. Of all the tools of the trade, the most important would be his combat uniform.

            It was a single piece of dark colored clothing that covered his entire body, composed of advanced materials that were resistant to tearing, the elements, and controlled body heat very well. It clung to his body, conforming to the ridges and muscles that adorned his body. The sneaking suit covered his body up to several inches above the ankle, the elbows, and the neck. Special soft boots that used clips and straps instead of string protected the feet and softened footsteps.

 Over the chest, torso, and back was the only form of protection Durev would get: an armor vest made out of Spectra fibers and ceramic plates that stopped even rifle rounds. The armor vest doubled as a tactical vest, with pouches for extra ammunition clips, shotgun shells, grenades, and medical supplies. The grenades were replaced with extra infiltration gear such as mirror-on-a-stick, fiber-optic camera, and lock-picks. His pistol was strapped to his right thigh, and his knife onto the web belt on his back. Nine extra magazines for his pistol was prepared, six on his vest and three in a drop leg pouch on his left leg. All together, the set clicked into a single web that ultimately attached to the body suit. The only things that remained to be readied were his mask and gauntlets. The mask was nondescript, basically a simple balaclava. Night vision goggles or thermal goggles were usually stored in a pouch on the belt, or kept on the head. 

            The gauntlets were the primary forms of combat Durev would engage in. He was martial arts master in several forms: tae kwon do, Muay Thai kickboxing, kempo, karate, ninjitsu, boxing, various forms of kung-fu, jujitsu, aikido, hapkido, tai chi chuan, and many other forms, including his father's legacy, Jeet Kune Do. The gauntlets were simple enough, made of Nomex and leather for comfort and flexibility, but there was an addition to its structure. Shaped metal plates woven into the arms, back of hand, and reinforced the knuckles. The plates were of strong enough metal that even full force punches would not dent the material, and it could even deflect bullets. Similar plates were woven into the shin-guards and parts of his boots.

            The combat suit was stuffed into a specially designed suitcase, covering the suit with a false shield of extra clothing when scanned by an X-ray and other detectors. A rocket-launcher could be in the case, and it would not show up. Setting his alarm for 8 AM, he went to sleep, a dream already forming.

--------------------------

            Screams, moans, and cries for help. These sounds echoed constantly from the tactical radio, of men suffering, of men dying. Soldiers under his command, his responsibility, falling under barrages of gunfire. In his arms, lay an unterfeldweber, a sergeant, dying from a bullet in the stomach.

            It was supposed to be a simple mission, to go into hostile territory and pull a rescue mission for a kidnapped government official in an embassy attacked by terrorists. Usually, the GSG-9 would be deployed for such problems in German soil, but the criminals were soldiers from another country, angry and bitter at the government. The radicals wanted a change in the government, but turned to violence instead of peaceful protests.

            Now the daughter of a German official was held captive, beaten and possibly violated, and nothing could be done about it, not without causing needless deaths. They moved her and their team into a remote facility, away from the media and hidden from the public view. Even recon units could not move in well enough to survey the land. But the girl still needed to be rescued, so, when negotiators caused a lapse in security, Durev's team of elite Kommando Spezialkraefte (KSK) soldiers moved in.

            But reconnaissance was poor; they reported approximately twelve terrorists—there were thirty. It was sloppy job that scarred the credibility and reputation of the KSK, and resulted in the deaths of many German soldiers.

            It was my fault. I should have been more careful, should have been more alert, should have been smarter. Why didn't he see the signs? Why did his soldiers, his friends, have to die? Why? WHY?! 

            _YOU ARE TOO WEAK! _

            Too… weak…? A dark voice mocks me, a demonic entity that engulfs my mind. I see him in the reflection of a pool of blood; a child with wild black hair, crimson eyes, and bloody hands.

            _FOOL! SEE WHAT YOUR WEAKNESS HAS CAUSED! LOOK DOWN, INTO THE EYES OF YOUR FAILURE!_

             Gustav… he's stopped breathing… no pulse. His eyes, they stare into my own, stare into my soul, accusing, cursing, a diatribe upon my failure as a leader, as a friend. Everyone, they're dying, and I can't help them…

            _you can, you know…_

How?! How can I repent for the sin of betrayal?!

            _know your hidden might, the strength of lunacy, the power of madness!_

            NO! No… they would cast me away...

            _NO ONE IS ALIVE TO CARE ANYMORE!_

            No one… alive…

            _this pain in your heart, your soul, i feel it as well. i know what you want. you want revenge._

            Revenge… yes…

            _the enemy, they are the cause. _

            Them... this is their fault... they must pay...

            _PAY THEM BACK IN BLOOD FOR WHICH THEY HAVE TORN FROM YOUR ARMS! LET THE FOOLS KNOW WHAT THEY HAVE UNLEASHED. SHOW THEM THE DEMON THAT THEY HAVE ANGERED!_

Kill them... kill them all...

            _my strength is your strength. bathe in the blood of the guilty._

            haa… haa… haa… EEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

            The terrifying roar of the Berserker ripped forth from the tortured man, a promise of agony and death. Grey-blue eyes were replaced with blood red, as the face of sorrow warped into a mask of hatred and anger. Laying the corpse of his friend on the ground, he turned to face the enemy that caused him so much harm.

            The shooting had stopped; the enemy soldiers were curious as to what caused such a frightening and mournful shriek. One ignorant individual continued to stab a KSK corpse, ignorant of the oncoming horror. 

            The terrorist let out a cry of pain as his hair was grabbed and pulled back, ripping him from his mutilation. When he tried to turn to see the idiot that had grabbed him, he saw a fury that chilled him to his very soul. Before shock and fear even registered in his mind, he was no more. A fist came down upon his face, crushing his skull like a watermelon.

            The terrorist's friend saw this, and in an act of vengeance, charged Durev with a wicked-looking Bowie knife. It never hit its mark, as the Special Forces operative grabbed the radical's wrist moments before it touched. He twisted the arm, the wet snap of breaking bones echoed in the silent battlefield, and before the enemy could even cry out in pain, Durev kicked him hard in the chest. He still had a strong grip on the man's arm, so as he flew back from the kick, his arm was ripped from his socket. Before the body could even touch ground, his own dismembered arm slammed into his chest, blood spraying everywhere.

            A third man ran forth, yelling out German curses and brandishing his assault rifle's bayonet menacingly. Durev quietly waited for him to approach; before the soldier could thrust, a large hand wrapped itself around his head. The KSK commando lifted the now scared man easily into the air, and placed his G36K assault rifle against the man's stomach. In a single long burst, all thirty 5.56x45mm NATO FMJ rounds ventilated his abdomen, the spray of body fluids was like a massive flower blooming from his back.

            He dropped both the body and rifle, and turned to face the main force.

            Having seen the deaths of three friends, the firing began anew. However, the hail of gunfire was far less accurate, fired in fear and desperation rather than with determination.

            "No more…" he whispered, and rocketed forward with a burst of speed faster than they could follow. Instantly Durev was among them, devastating chests with kicks and caving heads in with fierce punches.

            The wild soldier dodged a surprise kick to the head, grabbing the leg in a strong hold as it snapped up. Twisting around the attacker, Durev brought his weight down upon the leg, breaking the leg in half and tearing it from its socket, as it was hyper-extended well beyond its limits. An elbow came crashing down onto the windpipe, crushing the larynx and sealing the trachea, silencing the scream that followed.

            He flipped up from his position, immediately engaging another wave of soldiers.

            Wrapping his arm around an enemy's neck, he brought the body forward to stop a shotgun blast, never flinching as the spray of buckshot pelted his shield, and threw the corpse at the gunner. As the men fell to the ground, a booted heel came crashing down upon the one still alive, his head exploding into a gory mess. Seeing movement, he turned in time to see several people dive behind a jeep.

            _No pity for the guilty._

            "Can't hide!" a heart-rendering roar was directed towards the cowering terrorists. Screams of pure terror rang forth as the vehicle was flipped over by sheer adrenaline-boosted strength, crushing the soldiers underneath. One soldier had been able to dodge the flying car, and was running away after he dropped his rifle.

            _No mercy for the wicked._

            Instantly, Durev was upon him, tackling the terrorist to the ground and wrapping both hands around the man's neck and chin. Pulling sharply, the head ripped off with a bloody snap. Blood sprayed like an open hose, the bright red liquid splattering on the berserker's face, matching his eyes. The horror filled eyes of the head stared back at the demonic warrior, its face frozen in a scream of terror and agony. He let it drop to the ground with a wet splat, a look of angry apathetic hatred and rage chiseled onto his face.

            _No regret for the dead._

            The carnage continued for what seemed like hours, as each hostile force was hunted down and killed in a gruesome manner, their disgustingly mutilated corpses left to rot on the blood-soaked ground. One the remainders of the terrorist forces had his head trapped in Garland's hands, greater and greater force slowly crushing the skull.

            "Mercy! Please!" pleaded the terrified soldier, tears and snot flowing like rivers.

            "Mercy? What mercy did you show to my team, my friends? You gunned them down like they were dogs and even had the gall to stab the corpses! Give me a reason for you to live!" the German-American snarled, red eyes burning with barely controlled rage.

            "I-I-I have to. . ." he stuttered.

            "NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" was the guttural reply, and the hands came together.

            His head crumpled like a soda can, blood and gray matter spurting out in globs. As the body slumped out of bloody hands, the berserker released a final roar of rage, echoing across the battlefield and overpowering all other noise.

            Red returned to blue-gray, and Garland took in the chaos. Corpses, friend and foe, dotted the land. Bodies of terrorists bore wounds of horrendous quality: heads destroyed, limbs ripped apart, and torsos ripped open. Bullet and shell casings lay next to crushed firearms, some with crushed hands still trapped in the twisted pile of metal. He looked down at his hands, still slick soaked and with blood. His body throbbed in soreness and in pain, from bullet wounds and from exertion. The smell of death was sickeningly strong here, and he knew the one responsible. . .

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            Drenched in cold sweat, his heart racing and his breathing labored, Garland awoke in his bed. The clock said 7:59 AM.

            "A dream… just a dream," he calmed himself. But this dream was actually a memory. Before becoming a mercenary, he was a Hauptmann, a Captain in the KSK, and it was that last mission that drove him from normal society, abandoning his existence and living in post-Second Impact Seattle. Why Seattle? Why not?

            The nightmare never left him, always returning at random times. It served to constantly remind him of his mistakes, of his curse. So that…

            No. Now is not the time.

            Got a mission to do.

            Once more, into the breach…

            More blood upon already bloodstained hands…

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A/N: Annnnnd I'm done with the first chapter. Woo. Expect the next one sometime next week. I hope.


	3. Chapter 2: Second Impact

Disclaimer: See the Foreword

**Author's Babble:** I want to thank those that reviewed. Now that I know some people are actually reading my work, I will be sure to write more. Anyways, below is the next chapter, and a bit more about Garland's past.

And now…

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

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**Chapter 2: Second Impact**

August 30, 2006

Off the shore of Shadow Moses Island

0150 Mission Time, T-Minus 19 hours****

 Surrounded by ice-cold salt water, a sheet of metal was all that Garland Durev had that stood between him and several billion gallons of the liquid. A small metal boat with a coughing motor pushed him slowly towards the forbidden island of nuclear waste: Shadow Moses.

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            The flight had been uneventful, other than that little spat over a key chain. One of the security officers freaked out after he thought that one of Garland's keys was a bladed object. This resulted in the mercenary nearly getting arrested, had it not been for other passengers screaming at the stupidity and obvious blindness of security officers. Really, how the hell does a house key look like a knife? Luckily, his equipment bypassed scanning devices, and he stepped into the horror that is Coach.

            Although cheap and it did the job, the difference in quality was obvious. First/Business class looked very clean, hospitable, and comfortable. The moment he stepped into Economy class, the walls changed from a soft white to an off-beige color with oddly tinted stains. The seats contrasted greatly from First class: at least a foot less space. The food was crap and the drinks were warm, but such things Durev was able to handle in stride.

            However, it was the obese man sitting next to him that desperately needed many hot showers, the little brat behind him constantly kicking his chair, the unbelievably tall man in front of him (thus blocking the movie), and the perpetually crying newborn on his other side that tested his patience to an extreme. It would not trigger the berserker, but DAMN did it suck.

            "I hate planes," he muttered, and immediately an Air Marshall approached him, asking him why was he was threatening the integrity of the aircraft. Yes, it was a horrible ride.

            The drive wasn't that great either: crappy radio stations and a broken down car did not do much to relieve Durev of his stress. The car had no heat, windows were stuck down, and the brakes screeched like a banshee. It looked like a trashcan on wheels too. Had he not require the money and that he didn't want attention, Garland would have blown up the car by now with a good chunk of C4 and Semtex. His contact was late, and he was famished. When the contact actually arrived, he was throttled thoroughly, and in an act of kindness (and fear), the contact offered a free lunch.

            Elk, while tasty when seasoned right, was tougher than Garland's punching bag.

            The bag was made of Kevlar, boiled hide leather, and rubber.

            Currently he was on a small boat, propelled by a simple motor, and moving under the radar. Looming ahead was a rocky cliff, the waves slamming against the jagged rocks. Getting closer would be dangerous, as the swells grew stronger as they came closer to land. A strong rope with a hook in the end was all the dinghy had for an anchor, and with it, he threw it with all his might into the closest rock. The force was great enough that the hook became deeply lodged into the rock, creating an ugly wound where the metal speared through.

            Breathing the cold air in, the mercenary leapt with two iron spikes in his hands, stabbing them into the cliff wall and using them as leverage. Taking another deep breath, he began his climb. The rock he was attached to suddenly cracked, and the 100-odd pound rock brought the martial artist along on its dive into icy Alaskan waters.

            "Crap."

            There was a mighty splash, Garland being the object that broke surface tension. Air knocked out of him and the weight of the rock pushing him down, he was losing strength and consciousness quickly. The addition of freezing cold waters did not do much to help either.

            Blackness nearly taking him, memories and nightmares returned with a vengeance.

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            "Wierdo!"

            "Pansy!"

            "Girly-boy!"

            "Freak!"

            Nothing was as innocent and cruel as a child's mind; the jibes of such were merciless. Ever since they saw him practicing his martial arts, they assumed he was dancing, and immediately teased him for it. During show-and-tell, his culinary skill was mocked as well. What kind of boy knew how to dance and cook? During PE, he would beat everyone in athletics, further widening the rift. His teacher did not like him either, as the young boy was in better shape and could outperform the older man. He was also rather tall and muscular, giving him a more mature look, and caused the older people to think he was a failure. It was endless; there was no respite for the young martial artist. Everyday, by more and more people each time, they jeered at him, laughed at his sad face, and threw mud balls at him. The teachers did little to help, as the children would be nice for a few days, then return to their taunting.

            And the little boy, so sad and lonely, took it all in silence. No one ever saw the tears, not even his own parents. It would be admitting defeat if he cried. So he said nothing, but have a sad smile upon his lips as he stepped outside for recess, and played by himself on the swings. He would hear the teasing, he would look like he was ignoring, but in reality he took it all. Patience seemed infinite, until one kid thought of the wise idea of throwing objects at him.

            It started with small things: sticks, small rocks, and pinecones.

            They left scratches, but the brave child stood firm.

            Then it evolved into cheap toys: metal cars, jacks, and even throwing darts.

            Bruises and bigger cuts, but still he never cried out.

            The bright idea to use a boomerang came from an older, stronger boy that liked bullying smaller kids. Despite the stranger having a distinctly higher height and stronger build, the fact that he never fought back made him an easy target.

            The heavy wooden object struck the child in the head, leaving a bloody gash, a hairline fracture in the skull, and the blissfulness of unconsciousness. There was much giggling, many cheers that the freak got hurt, and a warm feeling that they defeated the pansy.

            Until he stood up.

            Gone were those sad, lonely eyes and the soft smile.

            Demon's eyes and a snarling scowl took their place.

            His roar silenced the schoolyard.

            Everyone felt his pain.

------------------------

            A myriad of images, from his elementary school until Second Impact, flashed across his mind:

            The fear and shock in the faces of others.

            Doctors with cold things that hurt and stung.

            His mother's concern.

            His father's worry.

            The time his family spent together during vacations.

            Happy times.

            Tearful times.

            Friendless schools and family-only parties.

            Lonely dances and weird looks directed towards him.

            Finally, the bright flash from the south that heralded the tidal wave that would kill billions all over the world.

------------------------

            He couldn't do anything. Nothing could be done against the incredible force of nature, a rushing wave of water capable of crushing buildings. He and his family had gone to Canterbury, England, to visit family. September 18, 2000, a meteorite struck the South Pole, causing a rapid change in temperature and melted the polar icecaps. This resulted in global flooding that killed half of the world's population. The half that died included the entirety of the boy's family. The half that lived included the boy.

            He watched his mother be dragged away by wild torrents; his father was with her, holding desperately to life itself. Already his aunts, uncles, and cousins had been swept away, drowning under the initial chaos. Only he and his parents remained, but not for long. Clinging to a small boat, while his son was in another craft, his father said his last:

            "My son! I'm afraid this is where we say goodbye. You are strong enough to live, without the guidance of us. Live! Protect what is important to you, even if they hate you; they know not what they have. Prove to them that you are the one!" A large blue-green wave silenced the man from saying anything else.

            Garland Durev, son of Peter Durev and Amelia Kaiser Durev, was then left alone in the world. No one would care for him, to hold him during his darkest times, to tell him that everything would be all right, to tell him that they love him. He was alone, forever and more.

            His cry of horror grieved for the ones he lost.

            His cry of sorrow echoed in concord with others around the world.

            His cry of anger cursed the water, the earth, and the skies above.

------------------------

            Half open, sleepy and glazed, gray-blue shifted briefly to red then back, reawakening the body and giving a burst of strength. Weak hands ripped the metal stakes from the jagged rock, and tired legs kicked the body away from the sinking earth. Pulling himself to the surface, Durev breathed deeply as he broke through the water's surface, relieving the intense burning in his chest. He took several more breaths before swimming to the rock his boat was anchored to. The cold and soaking wet mercenary looked at the cliff wall; he would try again, and this time, be successful. He leapt, sunk the spikes into the wall, and climbed.

            By the time he had reached the top, his arms were waging war against him. Normally, he could have climbed a vertical slope without much difficulty, but that's because he was able to use his legs and feet to help push him up. The cliff wall was in a reverse angle, forcing the mercenary to climb using solely his arms and shoulders to pull himself up.

            "No time to rest…" he muttered to himself as he looked at his PDA, normally protected in a waterproof pouch on his belt. Eighteen hours remained; it took him an entire hour to climb the damn cliff wall. The map he pulled up showed him that the facility was about three miles away from his position, and the nearest entrance would be the large snowfield that connected the Tank room with the nuke storage facility.

            "Right. Walking time."

            Taking his first step across the snow covered wasteland, he thanked whoever invented super-thinsulate—the stuff could keep a guy warm in Antarctica with only several layers of the stuff. A pair of warm boots did wonders as well.

------------------------

            Jumping the ledge that created part of the rock wall of the snowfield, he landed in a roll. The field was as empty as it was nearly a year ago, when Solid Snake first infiltrated the facility. And much like Snake's first incursion, the field would be booby-trapped with hidden explosives and detection equipment. Durev sighed; he did not have the foresight to bring some sort of bomb detector.

            No matter, he was close to the door anyways, and he didn't need to cross the field. A security card with the number three on it was stuffed into his vest, given to him in the same package as the flight ticket. The door opened slowly, ominously. As soon as a small crack was available, cold air rushed in, pushing heated air out of the hall.

            "Too easy," he thought as he took a step into the hall. He stopped, standing at a black line etched into the ground and walls. Sliding the thermal goggles perched on his head, bluish-black flooded his vision. Lasers normally invisible to the naked eye suddenly lit up, appearing reddish white. Sliding up and down the walls at different speeds, they were the only form of detection so far. Not being one to waste energy, the mercenary simply waited for the beams to move above his head and walked under them. Sure, he could have used fancy jumps, rolls, dives, and flips to get through quicker, but that only wasted energy and was not needed at the time. Right now, he just needed to get in, get the mission done, and get out.

            Opening the next door and stepping into the tank room, he immediately dove for cover. In the center of the room, four soldiers clustered together, sharing a meal. Opening the door when there was still cold air in it was a stupid move. As the breeze dissipated into the room, one of the soldiers shivered.

            "Shit! Who the hell opened the door?" apparently, this one was tired of being in arctic weather for so long.

            "None of us has a card high enough to open the door, except Parris, Simmons, and Johnny," another replied, shoveling more food into his mouth.

            "Yeah well Parris ain't here. He's over at the nuke building. Major Simmons over in storage with Minny, and Johnny's more or less in the bathroom crapping out his innards," the third one said, loading his French FA-MAS assault rifle with a fresh clip.

            The first speaker picked up his pistol and cocked it,

            "Guess there's another then," the soldier whispered. With that, the soldiers dispersed, spreading out but sticking close, and proceeded to clear the room.

            Behind a metal crate, Garland cursed silently. He had gotten careless and now the Genomes were on to him. He always had a knack for making things harder on himself. His mirror-on-a-stick told him that someone was coming from the right, but his left was clear. Instead of running, he held his ground, waiting for the soldier to come. A dark blade was in his right hand, ready to taste blood.

------------------------

            A shadow moved, meaning something could be there. Of course it could have been a rat, but it could also be an intruder.

            Being ever so cautious, he crept closer, his rifle up to bear. As he turned the corner, ready to shoot, a black hand shot out, grabbing his rifle and pulling it from his hands. The man was still in shock as a second hand came from below, a black knife gleaming in the soft light. Only a brief flash of pain was felt as it entered though his jaw, stabbing through the soft tissue, his skull, and finally, brain matter. The blade was long enough to pierce from jaw to hair, killing the Genome soldier almost instantly. A quiet gurgle was all that came out.

            One down, three left.

             _Where was Dan? He was next to me a moment ago. Eh? A shadow moved. Is something there? Better go check._

As he rounded the box, he saw a discarded rifle, still fully loaded. A thin stream of blood traveled around the corner, leading into darkness. Peering into the darkness, his cry of surprise was stifled with a gloved hand, and his head twisted sharply to the side, a soft crack being the only sound audible. The body was thrown on top of another corpse.

            Two down, two to go.

            "What was that? Hey! Intru—Urk!" a boot to the head silenced him well enough, sufficient force to make him stagger, but not so much as to send him flying. The last guard had heard the scuffle, and came to investigate; his reward was having his rifle ripped out of his hands. His rifle was then thrown at the staggering guard, impacting squarely upon his head, knocking him out.

            With a single fluid motion, a combat knife was drawn from its sheath and thrown with a blur, the blade lodging deeply into the unarmed guard's forehead. The remaining unconscious guard was given a merciful death: a single bullet to the head, quick and painless.

            Area secure.

            A quick search of the bodies revealed extra magazines of pistol ammunition, first aid supplies, and very low quantities of rations. The ammunition was thrown away. The soldiers used .45 ACP bullets, but Durev himself used 9mm; he would have to use his pistol sparingly. The SOCOM pistols off the corpses were useless as well, due to the DNA identification programs in the weapons.

            No matter.

            After his knife was collected and cleaned, a brief study of his tactical map revealed a storage room next to the exit, and an elevator that would take him down two floors, to a prison, then to a weapons storage facility.

            "Might as well clear out this floor," he mentally shrugged, and strode to the storeroom.

            What he saw inside surprised and shocked him.

            Apparently, there _were _female soldiers among the Next Generation Special Forces, and after so long without contact, hormones eventually smashed self-control into pieces, so now two soldiers were humping away madly on the floor, behind several crates.

            _Disgraceful._ Durev thought as his suppressed pistol came up and fired off two rounds. Instantly the moans of pleasure were silenced, special rounds penetrating their heads and turning their brains into oatmeal. Their bodies slumped, still stuck in their positions. The mercenary avoided the still embracing corpses and searched the small room.

            A pile of clothing to the side offered only rations, more medical supplies, a security card, and an MP5A4. He could not use the submachine-gun, but the ammunition was free game. In several pouches on his vest and belt he filled with 90 rounds of 9mm FMJ rounds; he could use his P228 more often now.

            With the first floor clear, he left for the second floor, twirling his new Lv. 6 security card.

------------------------

            When the elevator door opened, six suppressed shots came from the compartment, and five soldiers dropped dead. A camera protecting the hallway shorted out, a bullet firmly lodged in its circuitry. Simple as that, the current area was cleared of all hostiles.

            Stepping over the corpses, the mercenary stopped short of the prison door. Peeking around and the mirror-on-a-stick would attract attention, so a small fiber-optic wire was used. The view he received to his Palm Pilot showed two guards, heavily armored and with bigger guns than the regular soldiers.

            Whereas the normal grunts were given FA-MAS rifles (oddly enough, considering the gun is a French weapon, and the facility is American), shotguns, and MP5 sub-machineguns, these special soldiers had G3 rifles, trading heavier weight and bigger recoil for a bigger bullet and more powerful attacks.

            This was a dilemma: to effectively take out the hostiles without arousing the entire base, he had to get in close. His handgun was useless against the armor, and throwing his knife might not pierce the armor; hand-to-hand was his only choice. But there was at least 10 feet distance between him and the guards, and there would not be enough time to dash in and take out both soldiers. For now, they would have to wait.       

             Moving on, the next door led to a room filled with electronics, computers, and a large upright metal table. The hum of the machinery drowned out soft noises, but the area seemed clear. Nothing was visible, so Garland turned to leave the room.

            Before he completed his first step, however, he froze. A faint sound was heard, a sigh almost. Drawing his pistol, Durev inched around the upright table. He did not expect what he saw.

            _What the hell…?_

            A woman, around her mid-to-late-twenties, lay on the table, arms and legs tightly strapped down. Her eyes were closed, her breathing labored, and her body was slumped. The clothes she wore were reminiscent of the Skull Suit used by some mercenaries, but the most revealing part would have to have been the lack of a top. Ugly bruises and welts dotted her body, the most being around her face, neck, and breasts. To the side was a box, most likely filled with her belongings.

            "Poor girl. They tortured you, didn't they…?" In an act of unusual kindness, he brushed a lock of neck length blonde-streaked brown hair from her face, pushing it behind her ear. Despite the injuries and wounds, the girl still looked attractive. A petite frame but lean and developed muscles like that of an athlete, there was enough body fat to accentuate the curves and give a rather smooth appearance without appearing overweight. The girl's skin was lightly tanned, with practically no blemishes or imperfections other than the bruises and burn marks. Although her eyes were closed, her faintly freckled face was still pleasing to look at. No make-up was evident, but cosmetics were not needed improve the already pretty face. A bit of blush, light-colored lipstick, and maybe some eyeliner, and the pretty face would become absolutely stunning. Her chest wasn't that bad either—not too small, but not obtrusively large either. They were just the right size, in Garland's opinion. The mercenary stood there, as if thinking, and was about to grab a nearby sheet to cover her nakedness when the entrance door slid open. Instantly, the mercenary ducked, hiding behind the table. As heavy footsteps drew closer, he inched around the table, keeping it between himself and whoever just entered. The footsteps stopped in front of the captured girl.

            "Couldn't have been her, she's still stuck to the table. Besides, she's so full of drugs she can't feel a thing!" a rough voice, muffled slightly by something over his mouth.

            "Then who the hell killed Corporal Ellis and them? Sure as hell not some freaky psychic—they had bullet holes in their heads," a second voice of softer accent, similarly subdued.

            "Don't know. Let's go and report upstairs," the footsteps moved away and drew closer to Durev's position.

            Knife in hand, Garland leapt from his crouch, stabbing deeply into the chest of the first guard, directly into the heart. Kicking away the dying man, Durev blocked a rifle butt strike aimed at his head, deflecting it above him with his left arm and then driving his other fist into the surprised guard's face. The blow merely stunned the man, opening him up to a larger and more painful attack. A metal reinforced punch buried itself into his stomach, followed by second blow to the same place, and a knee to the chin knocked him back up. Suddenly his legs were swept away, leaving him midair. As he floated for a moment, the sweep followed into a roundhouse kick that smashed into his torso, blasting him into a wall. The force of the blow kept him standing, leaning heavily against the reinforced glass and metal. As final sight, beyond the haze of pain, an armor-plated boot came crashing onto his already bruised chest, shattering his ribs and driving the fragments into his heart and lungs.

            Thirteen dead. Seventeen remain.

            Garland turned in time to see the woman blink.

------------------------

A/N: Another chapter done. And the break is coming up! Yay. Next one in a week, I hope.


	4. Chapter 3: Insanity

Disclaimer: See the Foreword

**Author's Babble:** Man, I'm just cranking this stuff out… I have Thanksgiving break to thank for that. I hope everyone had a tasty turkey day, and a relaxing long weekend. Today's episode continues from the previous chapter, and shows a bit insight on Garland's character. Also, don't trust everything someone tells you. More often then not, you're gonna get screwed in the end. Thank you to those who reviewed, I hope that my writing continues to please your tastes. Enjoy.

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

**Chapter 3: Insanity**

------------------------

            As if awakened by the death throes of the two soldiers, the young woman opened her eyes. The entire scene had occurred to her left, and as she looked around the room to regain her bearings, blue-green eyes saw the carnage. 

            A soldier, half of his body visible past the table, lay dead with a look of shock in his eyes. A second soldier was on the ground as well, his chest caved in. And standing between the corpses was the only one standing; garbed in form fitting blue, black, and gray Neoprene, Goretex, and other materials, only the head was uncovered. 

            Through her groggy and haze filled vision, she could make out a short crop of black hair hair, combed forward, but only that; everything else was a blur. Her tongue felt dry, grating like sandpaper in her mouth. She desperately wanted to say something, to get free, to get back home, but the only sound from her mouth was a slurred moan.

            A groan, higher pitched than an average male's, came from behind him. Whipping around with his pistol ready and drawing a bead on the woman's head, Durev slowly approached her.

            _Still out of it, eh? Stay that way. _Durev mentally whispered, and took a knee to examine a nearby box. The contents included: the remains to her Skull Suit, tactical drop-leg holster, a standard Spec. Op. issued H&K Mk. 23 SOCOM pistol, suppressed, several clips of ammunition, rations, first aid kit, binoculars, and oddly enough, a rare Calico submachine-gun, suppressed, with a collapsible stock and two extra 50 round magazines.

            _Heh. A souvenir… can't find these nowadays._

            Calico submachine-guns were extremely rare on post-Second Impact Earth, because only few were made. Distinctive to 9mm Calicos were the 50-round and 100-round magazines that attached to the top, and spent casings were spat out downwards. It had a unique design, compact and moderately light, but it was not popular in the military circles. As the makers of Calicos, Calico Light Weapon Systems, fell into obscurity, their weapons fell into the hands of the highest payer.  Now more of a collector's item, these firearms were given high prices for their rareness. Such a weapon was sitting before Durev: a Calico M960 that showed little use, but excellent maintenance. The girl most likely brought this weapon not because of its lightness or accuracy, but for the shitload of bullets the damn thing could spit out. Usually not one to crave material possessions, such a high-capacity weapon would be beneficial to his mission, as well as look good on his weapon rack.

As he reached for the weapon, his eyes took a notice of an insignia inside the neck cuff of the Skull Suit top. A red fox's shoulders and head with a combat knife clenched in its mouth, its eyes staring forward, and a diamond framing it.

            FOX-HOUND.

            So this girl's FOX-HOUND? Must be new or really inexperienced; rarely do soldiers of this quality get captured. But wasn't it dissolved after the Shadow Moses Incident? Must be a new team, under new leadership and whatever. A chain necklace with dogtags jingled as he lifted the suit out for inspection. Upon scrutinizing the tags, he discovered three pieces of information: her name, Maggie Thompson, born in 1984, from America. 

            The girl moaned again, this time, more clearly and understandable. Garland stood and faced her, throwing a sheet over her naked top as he spoke to her.

            "Good morning, Miss Thompson," his wristwatch stated 2:20 AM. "How are you feeling?"

            "Mmrph… aauhh…" was her response.

            "I see the drugs are still bothering you. Allow my to introduce myself: I am Garland Durev. I know you are from FOX-HOUND, and I believe your mission is not different from my own. However, seeing as you are rather incapacitated right now, I will leave you here and continue on my mission, is that alright with you?"

            "Myuuu…"

            He blinked. And blinked again. Did he just hear her right? 

            "Maaugh…"

            Right. Must have hallucinated or something. She did not just "myuh" like a certain hot-springs turtle.

            "Err… I'll take that as a yes. I'll shift this table to a more comfortable position, and turn down those lights," Durev spoke softly as he went over the controls, taking care not to touch the dial labeled "voltage" and the big glowing red button. Once the table had adjusted to a horizontal position, and the lights dimmed, he released the locks on her wrist and ankles.

            "Miss Thompson, I am going to leave you here now, and I will return soon to check up on you. See you later," with that, he left the room, banishing the thought of stealing from his mind.

------------------------

            Down the elevator he went, and on the second floor, a large room, with nine smaller rooms dotted in a grid pattern. With his Lv. 6 card, he would have access to all of the weapon storage rooms, but choosing the weapons would be a concern. Although proficient in most small arms, he preferred his pistol, knife, and fists, but a good rifle, shotgun, or even heavy explosive would do well to assist in his survival. There were four guards patrolling the room, in paths that often intersected, as well as wearing heavy armor. Another difficult task. Sneaking down a hallway, he was surprised when the floor clicked from beneath him.

            Stifling a shout, he dove forward, avoiding the trapdoor the lead to God-knows-where. He rolled into the dive, stopping just short of the wall. His danger sense going nuts, he dove forward again, tackling a surprised guard that had come to inspect the trap. As they fell to the ground, Garland wrapped his arm around the guard's head, and twisted violently. A soft crack indicated that his neck snapped, and as the guard's body went limp, the corpse was thrown down the pit trap. More footsteps indicated the arrival of more soldiers, so the mercenary ducked into the closest armory room.

            Unlike the previous infiltrators, Durev did not have the luxury of a Soliton radar, and had to move based on his intuition and gut instinct… 

            Wait for it… 

            Wait… 

            NOW!

            Darting out of the room, he grabbed the guard that had just stepped away from the door. He took advantage of his surprise attack, grabbing the guard and smashing his face into the wall. The hand cocked back and slammed the head again, crushing the skull and snapping the neck. Garland activated another one of the trapdoors, and shoved the body down the chute. Returning to the room he hid in, further examination of the contents brought about the discovery of various rifles. Normally, Garland would ignore such discoveries, because assault rifles caused too much noise and were too clunky to carry around. However, in a place such as Shadow Moses, a larger weapon would be nice. Skipping the 5.56mm rifles, he approached the larger, more powerful 7.62x51mm weapons: FN FALs, H&K G3s, and US-made M14 rifles. He took a G3A3 with a small 4x ACOG scope, reminiscent of the weapons Durev used in the Bundeswehr, the German army. Strapping the new weapon to his back, he stepped out of the room and explored the rest of the armory.

            The now ransacked armory was still silent as Durev attached bits of C4 to the newly repaired walls. The two other guards were test dummies for his new rifle, and a blossoming flower that was the result of a headshot gave the weapon an A+. His load-bearing vest was chock full of ammo clips, some grenades, and even a couple claymores in a small backpack. Amazing what the armory held, even after Solid Snake's initial intrusion.

            The mercenary did not believe anyone was down here, past the walls, but it would be best to explore everywhere so that his work would be thorough. The rooms were barren—not even rats scurried around. However, the room that was said to have housed the duel between Revolver Ocelot and Solid Snake was occupied, strangely. 

            The pillars still had black scorch marks from the C4 years before, and bullet casings from a Colt Single Action Army and an H&K Mk.23 still littered the floor. Where Kenneth Baker once stood, held captive by blocks of plastic explosives, sat a single man, his clothes torn and his hair wild. There was no evidence of the man being armed, and from the looks of things, the man was in here for a while, living off cans of tasteless rations and a canteen.

            Faintly, barely understood, were mutterings coming from the dirty man.

            Garland only gave the man a strange look before raising his pistol for a fast and clean kill. The man's head was within his sights, aim not trembling. He squeezed the trigger.

            Suddenly, as the gun went off, the man's head ducked to the side, and in a flash he had tackled Durev to the ground. Surprised he was, that his P228 fell from his hand, and did nothing to resist the flying shoulder tackle. He regained his senses in time to see his own knife coming down on his nose, and snapped up both his hands to stop it. Trapped in a blade grasp, the knife was thrown to the side and the man thrown off; the mercenary flipped up and waited in a martial stance as the stranger stood.

            "Who might you be?" Garland asked warily, giving the man the dignity to identify himself before dying.

            The man glared at him, wild, greasy hair, frantic eyes, and a smile that showed insanity.

            "I am…I am…LIQUID SNAKE! And you…you must be Solid Snake!"

            "Sorry to say this, but I look nothing like you."

            "Liar! You're here to stop me! To stop Metal Gear REX and my revenge on the Patriots!"

            "That was an entire year ago, buddy."

            "Stop lying! Tell me, where are the Patriots?!"

            "Patriots? Don't know what you're talking about."

            "I told you to stop lying! You must know! What about SEELE?!"

            "SEELE? German for soul? It's a belief that everyone has a—"

            "SHUT UP! You know what I am talking about!"

            "No, really, I don't."

            "AAAGGGGGGHHHHHH! SOLID SNAKE! I WILL KILL YOU!" The man lunged at Durev, his hands twisted into fierce claws.

            "Delusional fool. I can see why they locked you up here." Garland stopped the lunge with a kick to the head. He twisted, and threw another kick into the staggering man. Somehow, the mentally unstable man continued to stand. The attack continued: a jab to the head, a hook to the jaw, and a strong elbow strike impacting into the sternum. He flew back, disoriented and gasping for air.

            There would be no respite.

            A hand wrapped itself around the man's neck, a vice-like grip sealing his throat shut. He was lifted into the air, and then thrown bodily into a pillar. The metal and stone reinforcing the pillar cracked and bent, showing the pure force the man was hurled with.

            "D…Damn you, Snake," the man staggered, trying to maintain his balance.

            "I told you. I'm not Snake," an open palm strike knocked the man back into the pillar, and a flurry of kidney blows followed. The combo finished with a resounding snap as the man's spine was snapped in half, courtesy of a knee blow to the gut.

            The insane man slumped to the ground, no longer able to feel or operate his limbs. He could still breath, hear, and see, however, and the last thing he saw was a black armor-plated boot.

            "My name," the foot lashed out, kicking with such force that the neck snapped. "Is Garland Durev. Auf Wiedersehen."

            Durev stepped over the body and out of the room, grimacing the whole way. He DID know of the Patriots and SEELE; what sort of mercenary didn't?

            The Patriots, a secretive and elite group of twelve men that is thought to covertly control the United States' political system, military, and someday, free will.

            SEELE, another such group of enigmatic men, only this collection had international membership.

            Both groups were considered to be the secret government conspirators of legend, like the Illuminati or Majestic 12.

            It was known in the mercenary circle that these two factions are warring secretly for power and control; it was the source of a good number of jobs for the more skilled of soldiers. More than once Garland was given a job by either superpower, the job information relayed by contacts such as Nikita Tupikov. Mercenaries never gave their real identity, only codenames, so as to protect themselves from angry employers. Garland himself was known as "Bloody Hands." He was pretty sure the Patriots didn't care much, but SEELE did want to slap him a couple times.

            He rode the elevator to B1, to check up on the young FOX-HOUNDer. Surprise was not the only emotion he felt when he found the room empty, the box ransacked, and one of the dead soldiers nude. Apparently, the woman came about, stole a uniform, grabbed her stuff, and ran.

            Oh well, one less thing to worry about. Hope she got out all right…

            He took the elevator to the first floor, still empty. There were still men he needed to exterminate, and the next building probably held more. But he would have to check the helipad first, and the underground pen where Solid Snake first infiltrated Shadow Moses. Letting go a small sigh, he headed for the vents.

------------------------

            Other than a couple rats and a lot of dust, getting outside wasn't that bad. His exit was on ground level, next to the tank room entrance. Oddly, there were no soldiers present. Not even the searchlights were on. Stepping cautiously through the snow, he reached the elevator without seeing a soul.

            _Where those guys wrong? Maybe they cleared out while I was downstairs…?_

            The underground entrance wasn't occupied either. Durev even fired off a couple rounds with his G3 into the air, without even a single gasp or yell for help. Confused to all hell, he took the elevator back up.

            _Where the hell is everyone?_

            Garland took a step out of the elevator, and crossed the helipad for a shortcut. Suddenly, the searchlights turned on, fixated right on the mercenary. Blinded and confused, he could only wince and cover his eyes as he heard a voice boom above him.

            "So! You are the 'help' the government sent: a mercenary lapdog to exterminate the Genome soldiers? How pathetic!"

            "I don't see you taking out eighteen soldiers out of thirty, by yourself," came Garland's reply.

            "Thirty? Is that how many they told you we have? I'm sorry to disappoint you, buddy, but we're a hundred strong!"

            _A hundred?! Damn it. They sold me out!_

"Haha, by the shocked look on your face, I'd say you were just betrayed by your own employer, am I right?"

            "Shut up! Who are you?"

            "I am Major Colin Parris, the only guy around here with more brain cells than your average Genome. I knew someone like you was coming, and so we simply waited for you to come here."

            "And sacrifice eighteen of your soldiers?!"

            He waved him off. "More food and water for us, and less people going insane."

            "You're the insane one!"

            "Whatever. Weapons up!" The clicking of dozens of rifles was the only thing heard above the howling wind.

            "Damn!" The martial artist braced himself.

            "FIRE!"

            The barrage of gunfire erupted from the second floor; twenty soldiers and Major Parris firing FA-MAS rifles and 12-gauge combat shotguns. Gene-enhanced vision, combined with a natural combat high and an itchy trigger finger, resulted in a full-automatic but controlled storm of copper-plated lead and buckshot. The initial salvo missed completely.

            The mercenary had dived to the side, avoiding what could have turned him not into Swiss cheese, but rather a large pile of cloth and mush. Thanks to his conditioning, Garland was capable of very short but extremely fast bursts of speed. Bringing his rifle to bear, he waited behind a protective barrier of metal.

            "Fools! Get him!"

            The only way down to the helipad was a single staircase, making it a lethal chokepoint for both sides. As a line of soldiers came running down the stairs, they were stopped with a well-thrown grenade. It was a soda can shaped object, with the words GN-WP inked into the can. As they backpedaled in fear and panic, the grenade exploded, and released a thick cloud of white phosphorus, severely burning all those who came in contact with it. The line stopped for a moment, only to be cut down by a burst of gunfire. Peeking from his protective cover, Garland released controlled bursts of 7.62mm shots into the crowd of NGSF soldiers. When they returned fire, he merely ducked back.

            An enemy grenade forced the former Special Forces operative to dive from his cover, into the snow and rolling behind a large steel crate. No doubt more grenades will be used to flush the mercenary out, and with such limited space and wide-open spaces, it was going to be difficult. 

            His rifle came to bear, but he did not peek out. Instead, he fired blindly in the general direction of the balcony, forcing the soldiers to duck. Garland bolted from his cover during this break, diving behind the metal walls that bordered the helipad. Rifle rounds zipped by his head and dusted the ground, throwing dirt clods and snow into the air. Crouch-walking behind cover and ignoring the bullets impacting on his cover, he managed to get behind the only metal crate in front of the elevator.

            Compared to 5.56mm rifles, the 7.62mm rifle had a bigger punch, higher recoil, and a smaller clip. Although it knocked down enemies with only one or two bullets, it required more frequent reloading and was generally heavier. Slapping a fresh magazine into his rifle, Garland once again peeked out to fire off a shot. He was not without his share of injuries, however. Blind-fire meant he did not know if his fire had pushed everyone down, and when he popped out for a shot, there would be some fire still coming his way. Already he had half a shell of buckshot embedded into his armor, grazes all over his body suit, and a bleeding wound in his left thigh. Grenade had thrown shrapnel that tore at Durev's clothing, cutting skin and burning flesh. Wiping away a stream of blood from his eyes, he grinned when he heard a claymore go off.

            Sometimes called giant shotguns, these explosives were placed during Garland's cover runs, to slow down enemy advancement towards his position. It was effective until the claymores ran out. Now he had soldiers shooting at him from the balcony and more coming down right to him. He was running out of grenades, and there were still guys up there shooting at him.

            Down to his last bunch of grenades, tactical diversionary tools often called flash-bangs, Garland was lucky he only had eight hostiles left, including Parris. Throwing it high and wide, it detonated in the air. The flash and bang produced by such a tool overloaded the senses, and while hostiles took time to recover, the engaging force would move in. While Parris and his soldiers rubbed their eyes to clear them of stars, Garland ran for the staircase, laying suppressive fire along the way.

            Two more fell to his assault, their bodies dropping as they were caught in the spray of lead, leaving six to kill him.

            Whoop-dee-do.

            He was up the stairs and running at the Genomes, a flash-bang flying above and behind them, and the mercenary entering close-quarters-combat. As the flash-bang went off, two more were taken down: one with a three-shot-burst to the face, and the other with a spinning kick, slamming the man against and over the railing. His death cry was ignored as the remaining four recovered.

            Jacketed lead pinged off the metal forearms of Garland's gauntlets, stopping what would have been a headshot. His response was a return burst that caught the man in the chest. Behind the dying man came another spurt of gunfire, this time impacting against the commando's protective armor. Spectra fibers tore and ruptured, but stopped the three rifle rounds from piercing. The remaining bullet in Garland's rifle popped the rifleman's head like a watermelon.

            The mercenary parried a rifle melee attack, using his own rifle to stop the incoming rifle stock, and countered with his own rifle check: one, two blows across the face, and an uppercut strike staggered the enemy soldier. A fierce kick to the temple sent him over the railing, his body breaking on frozen concrete.

            One of the last soldiers came in with knives, aiming for Garland's neck. Using his rifle as a shield, the martial artist stopped the knife and reversed the blade, driving it into the man's hand. Eyes wide and screeching in pain, the soldier was hurled to his doom as the mercenary flipped him over the shoulder and over the railing. The knife stayed where it was, the hand sliding through the blade easily. The cry stopped when the Genome landed on his face, his spine shattering as gravity brought it down.

            As Garland turned to look at Major Parris, his blood ran cold. Aiming straight at him was a FIM-92A Stinger. 

            _Pumpfh-whoosh!_ An anti-aircraft radar guided missile came streaking down the path.

            Reacting on instinct, Durev dropped his rifle, grabbed the railing, and jumped over. The missile zipped by, exploding as it impacted the facility wall. As Parris moved to fire again, two bullets whizzing past his head stopped him.

            Now laying on the ground, dull pain in his leg and sore all over his back, Durev double-tapped his pistol again, sending two more bullets towards the enemy Major. One bullet bounced off the metal plate of the railing, but the second impacted onto a leg, the bullet shattering bone and tearing flesh; it blew apart the Major's kneecap. Up went the Stinger, the missile flying away harmlessly, and down came the Major, now unable to support his weight on one leg.

Can't let him live… Durev reminded himself as he fished through his vest. Finding a cylinder, he thought it to be just another flash-bang—imagine his surprise and glee that the letters GN-WP were sprayed into the shell. Through the cold Alaskan air it sailed, a cloud of suffocating and burning white phosphorus exploding forth from the can. 

            All the Major could do was scream.

------------------------

            The mercenary allowed himself a brief respite from battle, taking time to bind his wounds and chow down on some beef jerky. His thigh wound was just a flesh wound; given time, it would heal normally. The Spectra armor vest was a different matter. Because of all the hits it took, the ceramic plate and Spectra fibers would be useless in the next firefight; it would stop only a few more bullets before failing completely. The trauma plate could be replaced, however. He would only have to raid a dead soldier's flak jacket for a plate.

            Standing again to restart his mission, he traveled down the elevator to the armory, to restock his supply of grenades and get a new rifle. As good and robust as the G3A3 was, he needed something with more ammunition.

            Raiding the armory once more, his bandoleer was stocked with fragmentation, flash-bang, and white phosphorus grenades. His selection of a rifle was much more careful: the newest rifle to join the U.S. military, the M8 lightweight infantry rifle. Deployed in the year 2005, it was considerably lighter than the M4A1 rifle, and offered a level of customization. The rifle was based off the H&K G36, using similar internal workings and the same features as its predecessor. The hand guard could also detach and replaced with an upgraded version of the 40mm AG36 grenade launcher: the M320.

            Having selected this new rifle with the grenade attachment, Garland grabbed several 40mm grenades, in both high explosive (HE) and white phosphorus (WP) flavors. He took a step out of the rifle storage room.

            Garland suddenly found a block of C4 stuck on his chest and the barrel of an assault rifle shoved into his temple.

            "Don't move!" a feminine voice hissed.

            "…crap."

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A/N: And a third one down. Some real action, finally. Since now the break is over, I'm going to have less time free to write. I must apologize for this beforehand, because I will be updating less frequently. Thank you all for bearing with me. Until then, see you around.


	5. Chapter 4: The Other Side

Disclaimer: See the Foreword

**Author's Babble:** Hmm…it's been nearly three weeks. Midterms are creeping up, and they're gonna kick my ass. At least Christmas break. Hurrah. Not much to say, actually. Oh well. Onwards…

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

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**Chapter 4: The Other Side**

            Through bleary eyes, a dull throbbing pain pulsing through her entire body, and a nasty headache, Maggie "Eden Puma" Thompson cursed the man named Roy Campbell—it was his idea to send a new recruit such as her into such hostile territory. 

            Once she had infiltrated and dropped down into Metal Gear REX's old home, she was ambushed by at least thirty Genome soldiers, and immediately taken prisoner. Codec was cut-off because of communication jamming set up by inside and outside forces, and it was believed Maggie didn't need support from headquarters. 

            How wrong they were.

            But as the soldiers marched her from the holding facility to Revolver Ocelot's old torture chamber, she was given a view of what life was like here. Left and right were the injured, the sick, and the ones slowly losing their insanity. One of the Next Generation Special Forces units was kind enough to explain to the prisoner what exactly happened since Solid Snake's intrusion and departure.

            When Psycho Mantis' mind-influencing powers waned, it was as if the soldiers were waking from a dream. A dream they remembered clearly, a dream during which it seemed like they were puppets, watching through the eyes of their body, but not controlling their movements. No one outside understood what the average Genome soldier knew, so they all believed that the NGSF revolted alongside the old FOX-HOUND, and thus, were all labeled as terrorists.

            After Snake's mission, no one came to help the soldiers, no one appeared with extra food, water, and medical supplies. Together, they scrounged around the base for the necessities. For an entire year, they did so. VR training slowed the process in which soldiers slowly became insane, but several men did snap. Sadly, to protect themselves, the uncontrollable ones were executed. A quarter of the entire force had gone mad; all but one were killed. The survivor was sealed away by a layer of concrete in the armory, accessible only by a block of plastic explosive.

            Food and water was rationed, the stocks only having so much. For such a large force, there was just enough for one year's worth of rationed consumption. Officers and NCOs were treated the same as grunts: everyone got equal shares, screw the ranks. However, the year has passed, and food was much more scarce. Soldiers began to turn on each other, stealing and even killing other members for their share. Everything was gradually crumbling into anarchy, as the instinct to survive overrode the soldiers' will and discipline.

            Not only food, but also the lack of sexual relief was unbearable. The few female soldiers of the NGSF were practically enslaved into being sex toys, given extra rations in return for favors. At one point, it was almost seven males per female, and each male wanted complete satisfaction.

            The introduction of an armed FOX-HOUND agent, Maggie, only increased the already high levels of tension and frustration. When they finally reached the torture chamber, she was immediately strapped to the table, her Skull Suit ripped in half, and her body molested by lust-filled soldiers. Fortunately, it had not evolved into intercourse; they used drugs to keep her compliant, her body fondled, but not raped. The use of the electric torture current satisfied her guards' frustration. This continued for two days, but she let it happen.

            Why? Why would she allow this torture and embarrassment to continue for so long?

            Because she felt sorry for them. Not pity, but rather, sympathy. They had suffered through much, and it mostly not their fault.

            Psycho Mantis and his powerful abilities entered the minds of the Next Generation Special Forces. There, he planted seeds of discord and rebellion, giving unbelievably strong suggestions to revolt. The victims could do nothing, as Mantis was far too powerful for their gene-enhanced psyches. They were slaves to the corrupt FOX-HOUND, and were released when Mantis died. Despite their innocence, they were forsaken.

            At least, she could do something. The girl was part of the U.S. military, and thus, the government: the people that had abandoned these men and women. The least she could do was be the scapegoat. She allowed this, because her heart said so. The pain, the humiliation, was nothing compared to what these abandoned soldiers went through. Her body, mind, soul, offered to these men and women; she had cried when she saw the desolation, when she was told of how they tried to survive, and those who didn't. So she let it happen.

            Then that man came, the person in black, gray, and blue. He woke her from her drug-induced sleep, and spoke.

            His voice was deep, soft, and strangely soothing. Listening to the man talk calmed her ragged nerves, even though she had no clue who this man was.

            Is he one of the enemy? No, how could he, after killing those two guards. But…he could be one of the insane ones…?

            Maybe he was FOX-HOUND as well, sent to help her? Can't be—he didn't know who she was. He'd at least know the identity of another FOX-HOUND agent working in the same place.

            Who was this guy, Garland Durev? And what did he want?

            Moments had passed, after she was repositioned and her shackles removed, and she was able to lurch off of the table. Her hands groped wildly, sluggish and slow to respond due to the drugs still present in her systems. Roaming hands found a medical tray, laden with various syringes and even pills. Though her vision remained blurred, she was able to make out the drug names on the vials.

            Then she realized something. She didn't know anything about medicine; all these chemicals meant nothing to her mind. Her mind was a soldier's, damn it, not a scientist's!

            What to do, what to do? Can't go around drugged up like this, and picking an injection at random could result in worsening her condition or even death!

            She was getting frantic, crazed in her search for a counteragent to whatever was in her blood system. What could she use to fix her… what the hell?

            A vial, with a large yellow post-it note attached to it, caught her eye. Upon this note were big black letters, CURE.

            Naturally, she assumed that it was the antidote to her problems, and immediately injected it into herself. Then, she started thinking about other possibilities.

            It could have been a hoax, killing her rather than curing. Oh no, what if it was? She would die because of a blunder on her part, and there would be no way to save her. She could hear the laughter of the dead men next to her now, taunting and jeering at her stupidity. She was going to die, and it was because she didn't think. 

            Think.

            Someone once said the human mind was one of the greatest and most dangerous things in the world. Nuclear weapons are nothing compared to the brain. Why? Because nukes are created by human minds; they sit in huge silos, doing nothing but face the sky. Human minds sit at a control station, a button away from launching the weapon. Human minds tell the finger to push the big red button; otherwise, the missile does nothing. Like the saying: "guns don't kill people, people kill people." It's the decision by the wielder that causes the gun to fire.

            Then they say that guns help in killing someone.

            So do iron pipes, knives, bricks, planks of wood, spoons, a nail-clipper (somehow), a bottle of wine, twine, the human hand, the list goes on.

            And each of these "weapons" does nothing, until the mind tells the body to.

            If you think, it may save your life. Thinking opens your mind and body to the world, letting you see things at a different perspective. Thinking creates battle strategies that allowed small armies to win over a larger opposing force. Thinking stops you from doing stupid things.

            To not think is to not live.

            Maggie made that mistake when she stuck herself with that needle, and injected that clear liquid into her vein, and now she was going to die.

            ………

            ……

            …

            .

            Nothing's happening. Was she dead yet? No… she wasn't dead. Rather, her vision was slowly clearing, and that nausea was fading away.

            What do you know; it really was the cure! She worried about all that crap for nothing.

            God, did she feel stupid.

            But now was not the time for berating herself. The FOX-HOUND agent had to finish her mission, then get the hell out of here.

            First, some new clothes. The Skull Suit was in tatters, and the brunette needed to find something to cover herself up. Those dead guys looked about her size…

            Offering a prayer to both, she took the clothes that had the least amount of stains: the man that had his chest caved in. A smile spread across her face when she found a level six card on his body—now she could get around a lot better. The Battle Dress Uniform was a bit small, but she filled it out rather well. She ransacked the little box with her stuff, happy that her Calico was not taken away, and was still fully loaded, and staggered down the hall, still fighting off the aftereffects of the drugs.

            First, ransack the armory! A 5.56x45mm rifle would do well, maybe a FA-MAS, so she could at least pass for one of the NGSF, and some explosives—you'll never know when you'll need them. While the Calico was a personal favorite of hers, 9mm was nothing compared to the power of an assault rifle. She would have to trade power and range for stealth and larger clip, but then again she could switch back and forth between the weapons as she saw fit. The commando then took the elevator to the first floor, revealing an empty tank room and faint sounds of battle. Through the door she could hear guns barking and grenades ripping the landscape apart. Cracking the gate open slightly, she peered out into the battlefield.

             Blackened snow and shrapnel dotted the land, with the occasional body lying next to a spent claymore. Majority of rifle fire was directed towards a large metal box-like structure; the FOX-HOUND commando assumed that was where that Durev person was. A rifle peaked out of the box, spraying bullets into the balcony above, and saw only a head, aiming a large rifle. As the head ducked back into cover, a black-colored cylinder went flying into the air.

            Thompson retreated into the safety of the tank room in time to avoid the blast. A sharp bang with a bright flash illuminated the battlefield slightly, and as she peeked out again, she saw Durev running towards the staircase. Soon, this battle would be over, and he would come through this door. Then she could figure out what he was doing here. The soldier ran to the remaining tank, crawled underneath, and waited.

------------------------

            When the man finally came through the doors, he looked exhausted. His suit was ripped in places by shrapnel and bullets, a bleeding wound in the thigh, and several bullets were lodged in his vest. It was obvious he was hurting in the leg, but he did not outwardly show it. The shuffling of feet stopped in front of her, snow and mud caked boots were the only things visible. Barely any movement was felt as the man sat on the vehicle. The ripping of Velcro and a zipper was rather loud in the empty room; he was taking something out, most likely a first-aid kit for that leg wound. She barely heard the soft grunts of pain as he treated the wound, the sigh of relief as painkillers set in, and a faint chewing sound. He was eating something…

            Maggie realized she was hungry, VERY hungry. A quiet burp from her stomach was thunderous to her ears, and she prayed that the mysterious soldier had not heard her.

            Deafening silence hung in the air, as the man froze from the foreign sound. Moments passed as he wondered what it was, but returned to his work with a shrug. A wet object pinged off the concrete floor, a bloody rifle round extracted from his thigh. Upon this bullet a strong smelling liquid was poured on, ammonia from the scent of it. Maggie's digital watch changed several minutes before she saw the man move, heading to the elevator. His rifle from outside was missing, so she assumed that he was going back for a new gun.

            Good, that'll be when she can get him.

            When the girl heard the ping and hum of an elevator running, she crawled out, avoiding the blood encrusted piece of copper and lead. The ammonia had rendered the blood unusable by forensics, as the chemical broke down the proteins and neutralized the acids in the blood, rendering it impossible for forensics to examine. Left over on the tank however, was more eye-catching: a small packet of beef jerky, with only a small serving, yet tastier than any emergency ration she had in her inventory. Taking a piece of dried meat and chewing it warily, her tongue shook with delight at the teriyaki taste. She put the rest in a pocket, taking bits out to chew. But enough with that, she had to get to the armory, and find out who this guy was. 

------------------------

            Hiding just past the corner of the rifle armory, she checked her rifle and prepared a small block of C4. The explosive was going to be insurance, and it would be a good psychological weapon. She had no intention on actually detonating the thing, but would do so should the man show signs of hostility.

            The door slid open, she sprung into action.

            Slapping the block of C4 on his chest and shoving her rifle into his temple, she hissed,

            "Don't move!"

            "…crap" was his response.

            The guy was massive, easily over six feet tall, an entire head above her five-foot-four. A lean yet muscular body of an athlete, with a hidden strength evident through the tight suit he wore. An advanced rifle was slung behind him, a pistol on his right thigh, and strange metal gloves. 

            _Gauntlets, for hand-to-hand fighting. This guy's a martial artist…_ The girl thought as she studied his body: a customized assault vest, most likely body armor as well, and a loaded tactical belt. From his layout and equipment, she could tell that he was not a sneaker, and more of a combat specialist. Circling around him to get a better look, she finally got a clear view of the man's face: chiseled, tough looking, with smudges of dirt and soot: There was stubble of day old facial hair and a rather defined jaw line. His hair was cut short, combed forward and with slight spikes. He had a look of defiance and determination, but as she stared into his eyes, she felt herself drawn towards them: grayish-blue, with a shade more cobalt blue. Within these eyes she saw the emotions running through him: anger for being stupid and lax, annoyance for getting caught, and fear. Not fear from dying, but something else…

            "Hands above your head. Identify yourself!" her command was accentuated with a jerk of her rifle.

            "I'm called Bloody Hands," his voice was much like the one she had heard in the torture chamber, deep and soft. However now it seemed the tone had a slight coldness to it.

            "Your real name, idiot!" she had to be harsh, to keep up appearances.

            "…You're that FOX-HOUND girl, Maggie Thompson, aren't you?"

            "Don't change the subject, tell me who you are!"

            "…Garland Durev. Mercenary."

            "Thank you. What is your mission?"

            "To get you people out of here."

            "Don't give me that crap! You killed over forty people now!"

            "Is that my kill score, now? I lost count…"

            "Shut up! What's your real purpose?"

            "…To kill everyone."

            Maggie froze. She had expected this answer, but never expected to be said with such coldness and indifference; it was as if he did not care for the human lives he was talking away. Her grip on her rifle slacked slightly, and she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come through.

            This pause was her undoing, as the mercenary blurred into motion, grabbing her rifle and ripping it from her grasp, and whipped out his pistol to press against the girl's masked cheek. The young woman raised the detonator in response.

            "Kill me and you become itty bitty pieces," she taunted.

            "…" His pistol came down, placed back into its holster. His arms came back up in surrender.

            "Alright. You win…" the rifle was thrown a little ways off, and Maggie suddenly found herself staring into those eyes again.

            "I'm right. You _are_ that FOX-HOUND woman. How are you feeling?" He was noticeably relaxing, his arms coming down to his sides.

            "Did I say you could relax?"

            "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," the arms went back up. "What is it you want from me?"

            "I…"

            "You don't know, do you? You just held me up and threatened me with a block of C4, asked what my mission is and who I am, and you don't know what else you want from me. Now I'm not surprised as to how and why you were captured."

            "What's that supposed to mean?!"

            "Take it as you will. What's your mission here anyways?"

            "None of your concern!"

            "It is if we're going to be working together or against!"

            "Don't make me use this…" she held up the detonator.

            "You won't have to. I have no intention in hurting you."

            "What?"

            "Nevermind. Did you find the beef jerky I left you?"

            "What!?"

            "From your shock, I'll take it as a yes. I knew you were somewhere nearby. The room you were held captive in was empty, and you don't have the proper equipment to cross that snowfield and beyond. After the battle, I heard a very faint gurgle in the tank room. You were right under me."

            "But, you didn't do anything?"

            "Why would I?"

            "I could have been hostile!"

            "But you're not, and should you prove to be, I can take you out."

            "Need I remind you I have the detonator?"

            "A girl as pretty as you wouldn't do such a thing."

            For the umpteenth time that day, Maggie Thompson looked shocked.

            Instantly, he had his arms around her, holding her close in a tight hug. With a husky yet intoxicating bass, he spoke to her,

            "Now, my dear FOX-HOUND commando, if you were to press that button, you would take both of us out. I would be disappointed, as I would not be able to know more about you, Miss Thompson," his eyes bore into hers, suddenly more blue than usual. Her blue-green eyes widened in shock and fear.

            The girl's knees were getting weak, a strange reaction to the mercenary's closeness. Her heart thumped faster in her chest, and her breathing became more labored. Panic and warmth filled her very being. What was wrong with her?!

            "G-g-get off!" Maggie struggled in his strong arms, trying to break free of the grapple.  
            "Not until I get to see your pretty face one last time…" while keeping a strong hold, he brought his left hand up to grasp Maggie's balaclava and pull it gently off of her. Neck length tresses of blond-streaked brown hair tumbled from its prison, and her now uncovered face met cold air.

            "Beautiful," he spoke before rolling away from the door and to the right, past the corner. As the two of them dove for cover, several rifles spat fire, sending copper plated lead down the hallway. Durev's pistol came up and sent two bullets into the face an oncoming Genome soldier, coming down from the right, while his other hand pushed the girl away from his chest.

            "What the hell?" she shouted over the din of gunfire before her FA-MAS rifle was thrown into her arms.

            "My apologizes for my earlier actions, Miss Thompson. I needed to get you close and out of harms way, and the only way I could without arousing suspicion was to act the way I did. Right now, we cannot argue about our mission objectives—we must fight together in order to survive!" Durev lobbed a fragmentation grenade down his side; the cries of "grenade!" were barely heard over the noise.

            "So that was all an act?!" she sprayed bullets down her line-of-sight, still shocked about the man's actions.

            "I apologize again, ma'am. I did not intend on leading you on like that, but I had to."

            "So what now?"

            "Live," Garland several claymore mines were placed in a line, one behind the other, to block off access to that path. "Alright, let's move! Cover my back and I'll get yours."

            They jumped out simultaneously, like figure ice skaters in synchronized motion, diving for safety as they aimed their rifles outward and sprayed. However while Garland aimed for lethal hits, Maggie went for neutralizing shots, aiming for the groin, arms, and kneecaps. Finding cover behind the PSG-1 storage, they took time to reload, and prepare for the next assault.

            "Switch sides, I'll take point and guide us to the elevator," Durev jumped out to take down a small cluster of enemy soldiers, launching a 40mm HE grenade down the path. "Move!"

            The enemy could not attack the two other than from the far left and far right sides; the other paths had trapdoors and would be a danger to everyone in a drawn-out firefight. Another burst from the mercenary's rifle sent soldiers back into cover, and a flash-bang flew down the way. The diversionary tool stunned the group, rendering them blind to the oncoming incendiary explosive. The cloud of fire sent three men screaming and running away, trying desperately to put out the lethal flames. 

            Under a hail of hostile fire, the two soldiers reached the elevator with some injury—Garland's leg wound had started to bleed slightly due to the sudden movement, and he had taken several bullets to the gut. Amazing that his vest still protected him. Maggie had avoided any damage, majority of the fire coming from Durev's direction. In fact, she had noticed that not one bullet got past the mercenary, as if he took all the hits just to protect her.

            The FOX-HOUND agent slammed the elevator call button with her free hand, keeping the other aiming down the hall. When the doors did not open immediately, she glanced at the screen above the call button. 

            The elevator was at top floor, and was coming down very quickly, most likely carrying enemy reinforcements.

            "Durev!"

            "Yes?" even in heated battle, he would still act like that?!

            "Elevator's comin', with extras!"

            His only response was to peek out and throw another grenade into the cluster of enemy soldiers.

            _BING!_ The elevator doors opened to reveal six soldiers armed to the teeth. A Mossburg 590 shotgun came up to fire.

            Center the target.

            Pull the switch.

            Bang.

            _Che-chink!_

            Bang.

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A/N – Hmm… I'm not that great with cliffhangers. Expect the next chapter to take even longer to churn out. I'll be away for a while (Alaska for Christmas. Damn cold, middle of nowhere, and 23 hours of perpetual night. Hell yes.). See you guys later.

I'd have a reader's response corner, but I don't have that large a fanbase…

Oh what the hell.  
holylance: Thanks for your support. Please note that the guy's last name is Durev, not Gurev. As for your suggestion to put him someplace different next time… well, I got another fic in the works, it stars our favorite mercenary, but in a MUCH different setting.

Metratron: Thank you for being the first.

ShardclawKusanagi: Ahh, the famous Kusanagi Flame. Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you like my work. Now, if you could only churn out "COE" as fast I can…

crewfeind1: Is my writing really that good? I'm surprised, actually. Thanks for your review. Good luck in life.

James C. Hanson: Heh. You wrote the longest review. I sent you an email a while ago, but I'm not sure if you got it or not. Anyways, thank you for the review.

That's all…for now.


	6. Chapter 5: Exorcism

Disclaimer: See the foreword

**Author's Babble:** First off, I want to apologize for the extra long delay between updates. Things got really slow after break, and I suddenly found myself bogged down with unbelievable amounts of work from my classes. Thanks again to those that reviewed. And now, something… supernatural.

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands** ****

Written by Tempest Dynasty

------------------------

**Chapter 5: Exorcism** ****

A Mossburg 590 combat shotgun came up to aim, and with a deafening roar, spat out a lethal cloud of flechettes. At point blank range, the small steel spikes easily pierced protective armor and ripped apart the soft flesh underneath. In moments, the man died, his lifeless hands dropping his rifle. Even before the guy began his slump to the ground, the shotgun cocked another shell, and unleashed its load on another stunned soldier, ripping the head apart into bits of flesh with a shower of anti-personnel flechettes. Two dead, in a surprise attack that shocked all.

            There were still four to go.

            Maggie didn't understand it, what she saw was a feat of inhuman speed and reflexes. Although busy with laying cover fire, Garland had kicked backwards at the moment the shotgun fired, changing the aim to hit the Genome soldier next to the gunner. In a blur, Garland had dropped his rifle and appeared next to the shotgun soldier and took control of the weapon. Garland's hands were covering the Genome's, bypassing the DNA restriction and letting the mercenary use the gun at will. Cocking the gun and facing the next soldier, he fired again into the man's face. As brain matter and skull fragments blossomed out the back of the man's head.

            To Garland, everything seemed sluggish: the soldiers moved in slow motion, Maggie's head was turning towards him slowly, and the overall response time was gradual. By the time the three remaining men shook off their shock and entered close-quarters-combat, the mercenary was already into his attack. While still holding on to the shotgun, he stuck the enemy soldier's chest with a fierce elbow strike, twice, three times, until the gun slipped from numb hands. Spinning to face the staggering soldier, Durev swung the shotgun like a club, knocking the poor man's head to the side with enough force to snap the neck. He stayed in the spin, increasing the velocity of the dented shotgun as he flung the broken weapon into the second to last Genome. The attack impacted on his face and crushed his nose, effectively stunning him as Garland faced the last man. With a low kick, the martial artist knocked away the NGSF soldier's footing, sending him into a free fall. As he floated in the air momentarily, a ridiculously strong punch smashed into his sternum, crushing the ribs and sending the fragments into his heart and lungs, while simultaneously launching the dying man into the elevator wall.

            The FOX-HOUND commando thought she saw flames encompassing Garland's fist. She was bringing her rifle up to aim at the bloody nosed soldier when a blur entered her field of vision once more, a metal reinforced fist driving itself into the bloody man's gut. The force was great enough to lift him off the ground, an uppercut that held the man several feet off the ground.

            "Sayonara," she heard the mercenary whisper before he pivoted to face out the elevator door and unleashed a devastating punch, smashing the unfortunate soldier across the room and impacting heavily into the concrete wall, forming large cracks in it as well.

            Six genetically modified soldiers were neutralized in less than a minute.

            Garland threw the corpses out of the elevator and bowed to the bewildered FOX-HOUND agent, gesturing for her to enter.

            "My lady, your transport as arrived."

            _My God… that's over fifty confirmed kills already… Why isn't he in FOX-HOUND? _She kept the thought to herself, her mouth shut but her eyes betraying her awe.

            The elevator doors closed, leaving behind fourteen dead or dying bodies.

            More blood upon already bloodstained hands.

------------------------

            The elevator ride up was silent, Garland looking calm while the young woman seemed uncomfortable, as if her mind was muddled with many thoughts.

            "Something wrong?" Durev's bass voice caused her to jump.

            "Err… no. I-I'm ok."

            "You sure? You look like you have a lot on your mind."

            "More than you realize…" she said, quietly to herself.

            "I see. I'll leave you alone, then."

            Needless to say, she was amazed that he was able to hear her whisper so low.

            As he stepped out the elevator when it reached the tank room, she called out to him,

            "Durev! Wait."

            "Hmm?" he turned to face her.

            "What was that, downstairs? You timed that shotgun so well, you became a blur and struck those men with great force, and I thought I saw your fist on fire. What was that?"

            "I think I'll answer those in opposite order. I'm currently an unofficial master of Jeet Kune Do, as well as numerous other styles. I've put myself on a very strict and grueling training program, pushing my body to the limits and beyond. What you saw was my chi encasing itself around my fist to strengthen the attack—I call it "Demon Hand." The training program not only boosts my strength, but my speed as well. I've been able to utilize short but incredibly fast dashes, "Bolt Dashes", if you will, to dodge attacks, close distances, stuff like that. I see everything in slow motion, as a side effect. The sixth sense is a side effect of extensive training, experience, a sharp eye, and a quick mind. I'm not only a mercenary, but I have a Master's Degree in modern biology, including post-Second Impact biology."

            "…Wow. Why are you telling me all this?"

            He shrugged, and began walking to the garage doors that lead to the snowfield.

            "I trust you. Don't ask why, I'm pretty good at judging people. By the way, how did you get into FOX-HOUND? Most members have some sort of unique ability or skill," the large garage doors opened slowly, revealing an empty passage.

            "It…it's the reason why I have stuff on my mind right now. Currently, I'm hearing the last thoughts and visions of the men you killed."

            "Whoa. ESP?"

            "No… Necromancy. I can speak to and hear the dead, as well as summon them momentarily."

            "That's a nifty skill. I'll have to ask you to call my parents… they died during Second Impact," he snapped on his thermal imaging goggles, scrutinizing the hall.

            "Many people did. I still remember all the cries and screams of the dying…"

            "I'm sorry. You must be very sensitive to it."

            "Only to large concentrations of death, such as recently."

            Though she couldn't see it, Maggie was sure Garland had winced.

            "Is that why you aimed for neutralizing shots?"

            "You knew?"

            "They did scream loud, rather than a death gurgle."

            "They don't deserve death. None of these men and women do."

            "What's your mission, anyway?"

            "That's confidentiAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!"

            Garland had grabbed the young woman and cradled her in his arms, while jumping quite suddenly into the hall. He flipped over the first laser Whoa!, kicked off the wall to dodge the second Yow!, slid under the third Eek!, and dove and rolled past the fourth and fifth laser Holy crap!. The final laser was bypassed when Garland tossed Maggie into the air to sail over the laser, while he slid under the beam Yaaaa!.

            "Idiot! Next time, warn me before you do something that dangerous!" she bonked him on the head.

            "Sorry, didn't have time to tell you, or I would have missed my window."

            "Whatever."

            The second garage door opened, letting in the artic winds. It had stopped snowing, the moon shining brightly against a starry night. The lack of light pollution allowed the two soldiers to see the night sky perfectly. A gust of subzero temperature wind blasted past them.

            Maggie shivered in the cold,

            "Damn it. They took my artic gear back at REX's nest! This BDU doesn't do much for cold weather," she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, while bringing her body closer together.

            Durev stood serenely in the cold; his combat suit's layers of super-thinsulate did wonders in retaining body heat. His ears and nose were freezing though, but he could ignore that. He looked down at the shaking girl, then back into the tank room.

            "…Let's head back. I'll find you a winter suit for you, and you can change in a heated room."

            "What? But what about—"

            "The lasers? We'll just walk under them as they pass by."

            "Then what about those fancy acrobatics?"

            He shrugged, "I was impatient, and felt like showing off."

            Ignoring her glare, he took her hand to guide her back into the tank room.

            "So where are you going to get me a winter suit?"

            "There's a bunch of dead bodies outside. We just need a parka, so we'll borrow one from a corpse."

            The necromancer did not say anything when they walked to the helipad, and wordlessly accepted a white parka Garland had pulled off a body. She was sad, seeing and feeling all this death. Their doom bringer was Garland Durev, the very same man that had rescued her and now worried for her safety. Her thoughts and feelings were mixed: he was polite, kind, and thoughtful, and yet he was also a ruthless mercenary that had been paid to kill everyone on the island… A burden or a boon, was his presence? 

            The girl didn't have time to finish the thought, as her head suddenly exploded with piercing pain. She gasped as she felt her head blow up in the worst pain she ever felt. Her powers allowed her to hear a gut-wrenching moan echo loudly throughout the area. Malicious and dark thoughts filled her very being, as her headache doubled in strength. Dropping to her knees, the FOX-HOUND agent dropped her rifle and gripped her head, crying softly out in pain.

            "Miss Thompson! What's wrong?!" Garland was immediately by her side, holding her shoulders and looking intently into her tightly shut eyes.

            "W-w-wraith! Evil spirit here…so strong! He wants to kill the both of us so badly!" she gasped out, tears now forming from the incredible pain and discomfort.

            "Who? Who is the evil spirit?" his voice was calm and soothing.

            "I don't know—it's coming from over there!" Maggie managed to point to the balcony, where an empty Stinger launcher leaned against the rail.

            "Parris…"

            "Ahh! It hurts! My head… so powerful!"

            "What?"

            Suddenly, Garland found the young woman in his arms, hugging him tightly.

            "Make it go away," she whispered, barely heard over the wind.

            "I…"

            "Please," she buried herself deeper into the mercenary's embrace, finding comfort in the larger man's arms.

            "Alright," tentatively, Garland wrapped his arms around the frightened girl.

            He failed to see the smirk adorning her face. Slowly, the girl pulled a knife from its sheath. Gently, so that its owner would not feel the weapon being drawn.

            But Durev did feel it, and the moment the knife was free, he jumped out of the deadly embrace, barely dodging a stab to the kidneys.

            "Thompson?! What the hell?!" Why had this woman suddenly attack him after luring him into her embrace, and with his own blade even?

            "RAAAAUGH!" a guttural roar came from the necromancer's throat, as her small body tackled a surprised Durev the moment he landed, knocking him onto his back. Wrapping her hands around his throat, the deranged girl began to squeeze with superhuman strength.

            "Damnit, girl!" he managed to get out has he tried to pry her hands off his neck.

            "Stupid mercenary dog! I'll kill you!" her voice sounded different from her usual melodious alto. It was harsher, with a deeper and throatier tone. Her eyes no longer had that soft green-blue color, having a darker and malicious black shade to it.

            _Parris?!_ Durev stuck his arms between Maggie's, and pushed outward. As her arms were knocked away, a double open palm blow pushed her entire body back to her stomach. It did not hurt much, as it was more of a pushing force than attack. Jumping to his feet, he faced the girl getting off the ground.

            _Damn. Can't hurt her…_ Garland unsnapped the latches and clips that connected his gauntlets to his combat suit, and let the armored handguards fall. The weapons hitting the ground with a heavy thud, the martial artist flexed his naked hands several times as he waited for the attack. 

            Rushing towards him came a possessed girl, her attack lacking elegance and finesse, but packing raw power, at least, as much power as her 5'4" frame could provide. Wild punches and claws stuck air or were deflected easily, Garland appearing as if he was dancing around the girl. She was like a raging fire, uncontrollable and feral, whereas Garland was like a flowing river, graceful yet forceful. 

            Tai Chi Chuan, while primarily used as a relaxation and meditation art, was also excellent in defense. Deadly blows could be pushed aside easily or dodged with a simple flick of the wrist or twist of the body. Maggie's attacks were rendered ineffective by that impregnable defense.

            "Thompson! Get a hold of yourself!" he yelled out as he dodged a knife slash.

            Maggie stabbed forward, placing all her body weight into the thrust. Although powerful, and Garland's knife a deadly weapon, it lacked balance and coordination. So as she zipped by, she was thrown off balance by a simple nudge, and the girl went tumbling down. As the veteran combat specialist waited for Maggie to get back up, he was thinking of a way to incapacitate her. How could he get that ghost out, lacking the proper tools for an exorcism? He needed a priest, or maybe the Ghostbusters. Angry spirits and ghosts were way over his head, something Garland never experienced until now.

            The FOX-HOUND commando charged blindly again, only to have her arm grabbed and flipped over Garland's extended knee.

            "Damn it," he cursed. His hands were getting numb very quickly—his gauntlets were also insulation to the cold, and completed the barrier from the gusting winds. Already he could feel the icy air crawl up the sleeves of his suit. "Better end this now…"

            The stubborn female soldier shakily stood up, tired and hurting from the former Special Forces soldier's counters and throws. Most likely, the next strike would render her unconscious. But what of Parris' ghost? Would he stay in her body after she lapses into unconsciousness? Or would he stay, taking her mind and body forever?

            He wasn't able to answer his question, as Maggie attacked again, still sloppy and blind with rage. Sidestepping her initial attack, Garland grabbed her weaponless left arm and pulled her close. Before the ghost could force the body into action, large cold hands wrap around her neck, and forcibly pushed back and down. Garland had pulled most of his power in the throw, but left enough to knock the air out of the smaller woman and possible knock her out. Slamming into the ground by her shoulders and head, Thompson's crazed rage faded into unconsciousness.

            Fearing he had used too much strength, the mercenary dropped to one knee and checked her vitals. Strong pulse, although tachycardic; expected, because the girl had exerted herself. Still breathing too, just gulping air rather than slow natural breaths. He was about to scoop her up into his arms when a sudden and severe feeling of nausea overwhelmed his senses; the need to puke was overpowering, and the sick back flips of his stomach did little to calm his queasiness. A chill penetrated him to his core, as if his suit had suddenly become useless in the arctic weather. He had the mother of all headaches as well, feeling as if something was being forcibly jammed into his mind. Emotions of hatred and anger invaded his thoughts, as the urge to kill and well-known tinge of wanting revenge crept into his mind. So surprised and weighed down by these abrupt feelings that he nearly succumbed to the approaching darkness.

            That is, until another voice appeared, a great howl from within his very soul. A voice that he was familiar with yet still remains a mystery. A dark and malevolent tone, one that would terrify anyone that heard it.

            _YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!_

**_BEGONE!_**

            And as if a piece of him was ripped away, a shrieking thought disappeared, as well as the nausea, coldness, and headache. His senses cleared gradually, as the near possession was driven away by _something_ within the martial artist's soul. Shaking his head to clear away the residual discomfort, Garland retrieved his gauntlets and scooped up the out cold girl. 

            He brought her inside, where they could warm up a bit.

            "…Damn it. When is she going to wake up? No time to wait for her," he muttered as he checked his watch. Sixteen hours remained, and he still had more than three-fourths of the facility to explore. With nothing to do until the Special Forces girl woke up, he sat down next to her and started a meal. Feeling a bit peckish himself, he rummaged through the pouches along his belt for some rations, until he came about a half-foot long roll of aluminum foil.

            Ahh… the turkey club he had been saving. Excellent. Amazing that it survived more than three combat situations, a dunking into Alaskan waters, and icy winds. The bacon wasn't even frozen! Mmm… bacon…

------------------------

***Thompson's mind, during the fight***

            "Ahh! My head… so powerful!"

            _Stupid mercenary, I will kill him!_

Who… who are you?

            _Shut up, FOX-HOUND bitch. I will use your body to kill this man!_

What?! No! I won't let you!

            _How do you propose on stopping me, little girl? I've already invaded your mind, soon I will take your body!_

Don't underestimate me, spirit, I'm a—

            _Oh, I know all about you, Maggie D. Thompson. Height: 5'4", weight: 99 pounds, blood type AB positive.  Born on August 29, 1980. Your mother and father, while loving, could not spend much time with you because of their careers. You were so sad and lonely, until you discovered your rather unique ability of necromancy! Suddenly, you were not alone anymore. You could speak with ghosts and spirits, even call some back from the afterlife. Yet not all spirits were kind. One particular ghost tried to rape your mind, and then your body. He was repelled when your nanny came in to check on your screaming. She saw nothing and so scolded and beat you for fooling around. Your life continued until both your parents went overseas to Germany…            _Stop! I don't want to her this anymore!

            _They died during a terrorist attack, their bodies riddled with bullets. The KSK Special Forces were unable to save them, as they were the first to die. You saw them, on TV as they were executed on their knees. You saw their tears, the fear and terror on their faces, and how they remained that way after five terrorists fired their AKs on full-auto. And yet, you felt sorry for the terrorists, as they were repressed for so long, living in hardship and poverty.  With nothing left for, the military was your next step, which leads up to you joining FOX-HOUND. No one understood why a pathetic little soldier girl like you could have joined the ranks of FOX-HOUND, so you were ignored and shunned by the members. Now, you are here, captured by Genome soldiers then rescued by a mysterious mercenary, Garland Durev. Ahh… so you find him cute, yet frightening._

Shut up! Get out of my mind!

            _These memories, feelings, how they're all opened to me now. First your mind falls, then your body_.

            Stop it! STOP IT!

            Images and memories flooded her being, forcing her to relive the pain and agony of her youth. The barrage never stopped, her psyche unable to handle the entire mental trauma. Suddenly, she saw the phantom in front of her, a severely burnt face twisted in revulsion and rage. A blackened grin adorned his face, while two equally scorched hands wrapped themselves around her head, the entity coming closer and closer, until they became one.

            _Now…to kill Garland Durev_

Though she could still see, feel, and hear, the necromancer could not control her body, as if she were a puppet. With horror filled eyes she watched herself draw in the concerned man into her arms, and she felt her hand closing around the knife at Garland's back.

            Garland…I'm so sorry…

            Elation filled her corner of her mind as the mercenary jumped out from her body's grasp, avoiding the knife attack. The young woman became worried when she saw the gauntlets fall off, but she knew the damage the metal gloves could do. She had a frown for every attack she made, a smile for every counter, and a grimace because she could feel the pain of falling down. Hard. The pain and throws did their job, as exhaustion from the wild and energy-wasting charges were quickly draining what energy her body had left. As she felt his hand wrap around her neck and push her down, she smiled inwardly. Garland had done everything to prevent injury to himself and to her. This would be the strike that knocks her unconscious. Hitting the ground with such force that her vision swam and all the air in her lungs forced out, she barely felt the supernatural entity leave her being. Now free of the possession and her body returned, she whispered in her mind with heartfelt gratitude.

            Thank you…

            Darkness enveloped her vision.

------------------------

            A moan escaped Maggie Thompson's lips as she came to, her head still reeling from the ghost attacking her. Warm and comfortable, the only that retracted from her current position was the unfamiliar surroundings. Her blurry vision immediately locked on to the closest object, a large dark shape. What was, she didn't know, but something tasty smelling wafted from its direction. Actually, it wasn't that great of a scent, but she had not eaten in several days, so anything remotely close to food was appetizing.

            "Oh, you're awake! How are you feeling?" a deep dark voice emanated from the dark shape.

            That's right, she was at Shadow Moses, with a mercenary named Garland Durev…

            "I'm alright. Killer headache though. Pretty hungry too."

            "You're in luck! I have some food cooking—it should be done soon. Tell me, hot or cold?"

            "I don't care, just give me anything. I'll take anything…wow."

            A six-inch roast turkey BLT on whole wheat was suddenly thrust in front of her. Despite the weather and beating, the lettuce and tomato still looked fresh, the turkey moist, the cheese good, and the bacon crisp.

            "Take it. You need it more than I do. I got some grunt food for myself."

            "Grunt food? Ugh." Her response was not surprising. Grunt food was something everyone learned in survival school, that is, a meal by mixing everything you got together into a single slop. Good taste not guaranteed.

            "Yeah. But it's energy. Ahh, it's ready," he picked up a plate of… something, and took a bite. Garland didn't visibly flinch, but his taste buds and stomach swore to kill him with indigestion. The combined flavors of orange juice, barbeque chicken, pineapples, tea, cookie dough, and garlic mashed potatoes (for texture) did not bode well with his palate.

            "Good?" Maggie asked as she took a bite of the turkey club. Mmm…bacon…

            "I've had better. Want a taste?" the plate with the offensive foodstuffs was held in front of her.

            "No, thank you. I'll take the sandwich."

            "Suit youself."

            …

            …

            An awkward silence ensued. At least, awkward for Maggie. The mercenary looked peaceful and content with his grunt food. She had to say something.

            "Garland?"

            "Yes, Miss Thompson?"

            "You can call me Maggie, you know."

            "But it's so… familiar. I'm a complete stranger to you."

            "Am I a stranger to you?"

            "No, I trust you. You're calling me by my first name, after all."

            "Then call me Maggie! I dislike being called by my last name."

            "Very well, Miss Thompson."

            "Arrgh. You make me feel old! I'm only 26!"

            "Sorry. Force of habit."

            "Then break that habit!"

            "It's difficult."

            "It can't be THAT difficult."

            "Yes it can."

            "No it can't."

            "Yes it can."

            "NO IT CAN'T!"

            "…"

            "…"

            "…Yes it can."

            "My God. I've never met anyone so stubborn."

            "Nyah."

            "What was that?"

            "In the end, we are children at heart."

            "You calling me a kid?!"

            "Oh, yes. I'm telling a young woman a few years younger than me that she is a kid. Wonderful tact I possess."

            "I sense sarcasm."

            "Wow, you got ESP too?"

            "Fucker."

            "Nyah."

            "Nyah, back at you."

            "Madam! You hurt me so!" Garland's arms were waving around dramatically, the plate of food nearly spilling.

            "So it's madam now?! Jesus, now I feel like I'm 70!"

            "Heh heh. Come now, no need to be dramatic."

            "…"

            "Did I go too far? My apologies, Miss Thompson."

            "Maggie, God damn it."

            "Of course…"

            "C'mon, let's hear you say it."

            "Can't. Eating," more the disgusting slop was shoveled into Garland's mouth.

            "Ugh. Remind me never to ki—" she stopped short.

            "Urmph?"

            "…AAAHHH-CHOO!" somehow, the sneeze seemed forced.

            "Blrush ouu…"

            "Don't talk with your mouth full!"

            He swallowed, albeit hesitantly. "Sorry."

            "As you should be."

            "My, aren't we just high and mighty today?"

            "Shut up."

            "Nyah."

            "You done with your food?"

            "Yes…?"

            "Good."

            With that, she tackled him.

            And started beating him with a conveniently placed wooden stick.

            "Ouch! Hey quit it! Ow ow ow! Stop! Owww! Not the head! Owie!"

-----------------------

A/N: Well. That one's over with. I'm thinking that this story will continue on for two to four more chapters, depending what my messed up mind can think up. I got finals all this week, so I doubt I'll get much work done. Oh yeah, I'm also making a swords-and-sorcery type fanfic, most likely to be posted at fictionpress.com rather than here. See you around guys.


	7. Chapter 6a: Memories of Red

**Disclamer: **I should add on to the Foreword now… Neon Genesis Evangelion, Sohryu Asuka Langley, and anything related to NGE does not belong to me.

**Author's Babble: **It's been a while, hasn't it? I blame my classes, work, and preparations for the future. This is actually a slight revision of the first posting; I will be revising each chapter while at the same time typing up the next chapter. I have futuresuperstar to thank for this. There won't be any major changes, just things like extra details, more "meat" and substance to the story. Anyways, today's chapter is a bit more interaction, and something from the past, about a person that Garland affected as much as the person affected him. Without further ado…

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands **

Written by Tempest Dynasty

------------------------

**Chapter 6a: Memories of Red**

            "So… How do we get across?"

            "…"

            "Thompson?"

            The girl said nothing but raise a wooden stick, a warning for Garland.

            "Maggie," He corrected himself. "You have a mine detector?"

            "Yes. I'll see them through my Soliton radar, but what about you?"

            "I'll just follow you."

            "What if my radar's wrong?"

            "I won't have legs then."

            "That's a lot of trust in me."

            "Ok, fine. Where's your radar anyways, on that wristwatch? I'll carry you piggyback style across the snow."

            "But—"

            "I won't drop you. I promise."

            "What about those cameras?"

            Garland brought his M8 assault rifle up, aiming carefully through the built-in 2x scope. It barked three times, several spent shells of hot brass flying from the weapon and landing on the ground. Halfway up the snowfield, three gun-cameras shorted out. A single 5.56x45mm FMJ round was lodged in the center of the camera, effectively neutralizing it.

            "Cameras are disabled. Now, about those mines?"

            "You sure you can hold me?"

            "Maggie. I can pick up my body weight and more. I can easily hold you."

            "Fine, fine."

            The mercenary squatted, his back to the FOX-HOUND agent.

            "Hop on, little lady."

            "Shut it."

            The girl climbed on regardless, and draped her arms around Garland's broad shoulders. Through the protective vest and material his suit was made of, she could feel every muscle, toned and rock hard.

            "Kinda thin for a sneaking suit in the arctic," she muttered, embarrassed at being in such a situation.

            "My suit? It's not for sneaking. It's for fighting, for maximum dexterity and agility. Could you move your arm up a bit so I can see the radar?"

            The Soliton radar was actually part of a glorified and heavy wristwatch; capable of switching between time, omni-directional radar that could determine the direction something was facing, such as a guard or a mine, and Codec screen. Her arm came up to enter Garland's field of vision, just enough so that he could shift his eyes down to see it rather than bend his entire head.

            "Alright. I can see it. Hang on!" he sprinted into the snow, weaving and twisting through the complicated maze created by invisible mines. They were moving over quickly, until they hit a snag. Stopping suddenly, Garland had to catch the girl before her momentum carried her forward.

            "Hey, what as that for?!" she was rather miffed at nearly falling off.

            "A wall. The mine detector says there's a line of mines straight ahead. I can't jump across, as there is another line of mines right after it. We'll have to disarm them."

            "No prob," she shrugged and hopped off Garland's back, crawling on the ground and picking up the claymore mines as she passed over them. The mercenary only blinked; this is how you disarm claymores?! It was usually much more difficult in other mission, having to disarm and safe the explosive before removing it from the ground. It must have been a FOX-HOUND thing, as he never saw this technique until now.

            "Well. That works."

            "Ya. Now, let's get going."

            "Lead the way, little lady."

------------------------

            "Be careful in here. The warheads may be decommissioned, but they're still dangerous."

            "Is this the nuke storage building?"

            "One of many."

            "How are we getting out of here, anyways?"

            "I'm leaving via helicopter pick-up, past the residential block. You?"

            "I'll find a way."

            The two soldiers were standing at the small window that offered a full view of the nuke storage facility, allowing them to see the few guards milling around and the cameras active. The guards were still in yellow NBC, Nuclear Biological Chemical, suits and masks that protected them from prolonged exposure to nuclear materials. Fortunately for both Garland and Maggie, they only needed to get to the elevator. Unfortunately for them, the guards seem to wander in random patterns, offering very few windows in which the commandos could take advantage of.

            "So how to do we get past this part?" Garland looked over the area once more.

            "Gameshark?" 

            "Wha?"

            "Nothing. Cheaters suck."

            "Err… ok?"

            "Never mind. Let's take the path… to the left. The right path has too many cameras."

            "But the right path has less guards."

            "And a more open space, easier for us to get spotted."

            "But more space for us fight back in."

            "Did I mention that if we're caught they flood the room with poisonous gas?"

            "Right. Left path it is."

            "Oh yeah. Don't use any guns."

            "Plutonium leaks. Yeah, I get it."

            "Good. Let's go."

            Three guards milled around the nuclear materials, playing a game of cards to pass the time. It was rather odd, because there was no reason to have guards in such a dangerous area. In fact, why have guards patrolling the area if no one was going to invade? A mystery that both Garland and Maggie pondered about, but rarely cared much for. It made the mercenary's job easier, anyways. The guards sat on top of the dismantled missiles, one had their back to the wall while two were facing it.

            "Why are we here? Doing this crap? Why do we have to stand in this room surrounded by nukes stacked boxes upon boxes?" one Genome soldier complained.

            "God knows. Stupid officers are all at REX's hanger wanking off to the few girls we got, and sends us grunts randomly around the base"

            "Man, when is the government sending help?"

            "God knows. Got any twos?"

            "Go fish."

            "Aarragsh!"

            "Dude, Mike, it's not that bad," the third was looking down to his cards, rather than looking at his friend.

            "Raaguuh…" a throaty gurgle came back.

            "Mike?"

            They looked up to see their fellow soldier choking away at a garrote wire strung around his neck. Behind him was a person in dark clothing, one hand holding the wire and the other brandishing a pistol.

            "Holy Sh—!" not much more could be said as the gun fired twice, spitting out two 9mm "shredder" slugs that effectively turned any and all flesh into a pasty goo. With brains of mush, they crumpled to the ground in silent heaps, hidden away by the missiles.

            "Huh? What was that?" a fourth voice came from above, and footsteps came down the stairs.

            Maggie was prepared for this, and leapt over the railing, clubbing the guard in the face with her rifle as she flew over.

            There were two remaining guards, one circling around a nearby truck, and one apparently napping between two large towers of dismantled warheads.

            Silently, shifting into Ninja mode, Garland snuck up to the truck. On the other side was the soldier, stopping momentarily to stretch. Before he could finish his brief break, two arms wrapped around his head and neck and violently twisted to the side, a soft and muffled crack indicating that the Genome's neck had been snapped. The body was disposed by shoving it under the staircase, covered by tall boxes. Before the assassin could finish off the last guy, a small hand grabbed his shoulder to stop him. He followed the pull, turning to face a stressed female.

            "What the hell are you doing?!" Maggie hissed through her balaclava.

            "What do you think? Completing the objectives of my mission," his voice was cold and serious, a monotone compared to his usual chatter.

            "Even if it involves killing every man and woman on this base? All 150-odd soldiers?!"

            "Yes. That's what I'm paid for: the elimination of every soldier in this facility. You are not one of them, so you're off the list. Good job on that guy on the stairs, though."

            "I had to club that guy before he discovered you! You WANT to choke on poison gas?"

            "I have a mask, you know."

            "But I don't! Think about me for once instead of your mission!"

            "…sorry."

            "What?"

            "I'm sorry."

            "Oh… All right then. Let's go."

            Klaxons blared suddenly, echoing loudly in the large room. Yellow lights began to flash all around. The door from which the two operatives came from slid shut, and the air began to take a yellowish hue. Maggie suddenly found Garland's gasmask thrust into her possession.

            "Wha—?" shock adorned her face.

            "Take it! I'll steal one off a corpse; you need it more!" the martial artist shouted over the alarms.

            "But—"

            "I'm thinking about you, right now, and you need this mask! Now put it on!"

            The mercenary did not take time to watch her don the mask, as he already bolted for the nearest body. Two were useless, as they had a hole in the mask, but the man Garland had strangled still had a good one. His knife made short work of the face portion, and as soon as he slapped it on, he breathed deeply. The mask was not as effective as it would have been, had it remained completely intact, but it still did its job of filtering the saturated air.

            He was only able to take a few breaths, until it was suddenly ripped away by an unknown force. Whipping around to face the attacker, Garland saw the once-sleeping guard with his chopped up mask in one hand, and a SOCOM pistol in the other. The handgun came up to bear at his head, the laser unwaveringly sighted upon his chest.

            It barked twice, delivering twin payloads of lethal .45 ACP jacketed lead.

            What happened next would have been considered superhuman, even impossible; something that would come from an action movie with wires.

            Grunting a curse, Garland jumped and backflipped to dodge the bullet. However, his entire body was at least five feet in the air, and his flip carried him well away from the bullets; his chest was the axis of the circle as he spun in the air. Maggie and the Genome private stared in awe as time seemed to slow down, every minute motion evident and clear as day: the bullet flying by with air ripples following it, Garland appearing to fly as he floated over the bullet and the smooth motion in which his arm reached for his pistol and pulled it out. Time restarted as he landed and skidded slightly backwards, dropping to one knee with his P228 already aimed at his target. Four rapid shots spat from the suppressed weapon, impacting upon the soft flesh, expanding and tumbling to tear and grind muscle, bone, and fat. One "shredder" round to the head was enough to drop a man—four was enough to thoroughly rearrange a once decent-looking face into a mass of fleshy pulp and bloody remains.

            Still energized with adrenaline, Durev ran forward to reclaim his ruined mask. However, the martial artist had already breathed in some of the contaminated air and was already feeling the affects. Woozy and lightheaded, he had to comply with his body's demand for air, and was forced to suck in a lungful.

            He started coughing immediately, the gas burning down his throat and searing his lungs; it was like a raging wildfire was lit up in his chest. Despite all the conditioning and training his body had, it could not stand up against anti-personnel gas. It was something all combat specialists dreaded: being defeated by something they could not fight back. Starvation, survival, a sniper, even a tank, these were things that Garland had even a small degree of chance to survive. But something like nerve gas or disease, he had nothing in which he was powerless to stop.

            In actuality, the gas was not poisonous, but rather a combination of different gasses and chemicals. This combination sucked the oxygen out of the air, forced lungs to spasm and cough, and generate a great burning sensation on contact. Rather than kill, it would knock out a person for Military Police, MPs, to arrest and detain whoever set off the alarm.

            Every cough caused his lungs to suck in more of the gas, continuing to ravage his body as well as his mind. He could do nothing but suffer, writhe in pain and uncontrollable spasms. Collapsing to the ground with fading vision and coughing up a lung, Garland berated himself for being so weak, so stupid; the last he saw was the figure of Maggie Thompson running towards him. Yet, that familiar voice rang through his head again, soothing yet with hidden strength.

            _You work too hard, boy._

_            Take a break…_

_            You'll need it for later…_

_            Until then, think of something nice._

            And suddenly, he remembered someone.

            Of a young girl he met during his graduate studies in Germany.

            A young girl, as fiery as her hair, and as intelligent as anyone else in the room.

            Cute, but loud and boisterous.

            Despite it all, she became friends with him, and they were study buddies.

            Good friends, actually, because they told each other everything.

            Everything, even their fears and losses.

            They shared tears, sobs, and memories

            They held each other, in sorrow and in solace.

            Even when people gave them odd looks for being together.

            Age was nothing when it came to bad memories.

            Besides, it wasn't dating. It was like a big brother/little sister.

            How old was she now? Six? Seven? A genius at such an age.

            Last he heard, she was designated Second Child of the Project-E…

            Such confidential information, written in a letter to a friend.

            That's right, he needed to help train the girl.

            She was going to be an Evangelion pilot.

            She would need all the fighting experience she could get.

            Her birthday was in a few months too: December 1st…

            He would have to visit, and bring a nice gift.

            A doll perhaps? No, she's far too mature for it.

            What to get her?

            A dress… Yes, a sundress. A soft yellow, to contrast her eyes.

            Her blue eyes…

            A custom made dress, so that she can alter it as she grew.

            What a fine young woman she would become.

            Strong.

            Beautiful.

            Sohryu Asuka Langley.

            He also remembered, the day they met…

------------------------

            Sitting in the middle of an expansive auditorium, Garland sat in his desk relaxed and ready to type away at his laptop. He was at a German college for his graduate studies, something that would be nice for him to have after his military days. The class was Biochemistry 601, a mixed class of medical students, scientists-in-the-making, and the really damn smart. There were only twenty students that day, the first day of Garland's first class. It would grown or shrink depending on those who want to pass or drop the class. The class was about to start, when student number twenty-one walked into the classroom. Garland's head wasn't the only one that turned to see the new kid. Ironically, it was a kid—a child, even. Her face was stone cold serious, framed by a luscious mane of strawberry hair. Everyone's vision was upon the girl, even as she turned to face twenty pairs of curious eyes bearing down on her.

            "What are you all looking at?! Are you all embarrassed that I'm in the same class as you?!" she practically screamed. Nineteen pairs whipped away; only one pair remained on her.

            "Such a interesting girl," an older man sitting near the German Special Forces soldier whispered. "Cute too."

            A comment spoken that softly would have been not heard or ignored, but the tone in which he said it disturbed Garland. There was something… just wrong with the way he said it. As a soldier protecting the people, he would have to keep an eye on this fellow. He could be…

            His train of thought was shattered when the child sat next to him, her own laptop snapping open and awaking from sleep. Garland only offered her a glance, one in which she returned with those fierce blue eyes, and turned his attention back to the lesson at hand. Biochemistry was an extremely difficult subject to master, if you didn't pay attention or take good notes.

            One afternoon, a few weeks later, Durev found himself in the school library, pulling reference books for a term paper. As he turned a corner, he found the same redheaded girl trying to reach for a rather inconveniently placed book. She was on a chair, with several thick books boosting her height, yet her child body was still too short to reach the book. Wordlessly, Garland reached up and grasped the needed book, handing it to the girl as she looked at him.

            "I didn't ask for your help, you know. I'm fine the way I am," she snapped.

            "My apologies, ma'am. You looked like you needed help," being polite and soft-spoken would help defuse her anger.

            "I don't need help. I'm old enough to take care of myself," the girl huffed as she jumped down from her perch.

            "Be that as it may, it's not a weakness to ask for help," he countered

            "I don't need your help—I don't need anyone's help!" her voice rose slightly.

            "Again, my apologies. No need to raise your voice," Garland had to end it, before she got really angry with him.

            "Hmph!" she snorted and stormed away to the astonished gazes of everyone in the room; Garland's own glare made them all return to their activities. With his books and studies done for the day, he headed out to his government loaned vehicle, the munchies suddenly demanding something tasty.

            Passing by a female dormitory surrounded by trees, Garland's trained and enhanced hearing picked up a muffled gasp. It wasn't a gasp of excitement or surprise, it was one of fear and panic.

            Never a good combination on a dark school campus.

            Placing his bookbag on the ground and reaching into the small of his back, he drew out a small semi-automatic handgun that Garland had purchased for self-defense and combat. At the time, it was a Tanfoglio T95 Compact. A derivative of the venerable CZ-75 pistol, the handgun was chambered for 10mm Auto ammunition. It was a very powerful bullet, defeating all conventional non-magnum rounds in muzzle velocity and energy. Unfortunately, it also meant a heavier gun and bigger recoil. Regardless, it was a reliable and accurate gun, with "one shot, one kill" power. 10mm was rather popular among his soldier friends. As a member of the Special Forces, he was one of the few individuals permitted to carry a firearm at anytime, providing it was appropriate—carrying around an assault rifle to class was both stupid and a hassle.

            He had no flashlight, and so had to rely on ambient light as well as his own natural night vision to see. As Garland drew closer to the source of the sound, he found himself hidden better and better by surrounding bushes and short trees. Another suppressed scream seemed to echo around him as he peered into a clearing nearby.

            There, with his back to Garland, was the older man from his class, the one that said the strange comment. The man was hunched over, his arms holding something, and it seemed to be squirming. A wave of red hair escaped his grasp.

            _My god. It's the girl!_ Durev was horrified at the thought. Anger and revulsion welling up in him, he stepped out of the bush and snuck up to the man. Bringing his pistol up to press against the man's head lightly, he cocked back the hammer to bring attention to himself.

            "Give me one damn good reason I should not shoot you right here, you revolting pig," Garland hissed, disgust practically imbued into his words.

            "Oh… one so young and beautiful, I must caress you forever!" the pedophile seemed to ignore the threat.

            "You sick bastard," with that, he pistol-whipped the man. The strong blow to the back of the head sent the man toppling to the ground, and the girl free from his grasp.

            The once angry and cold girl looked at him with tearful and fearful eyes.

            "Who are you?"

            Snapping into the most rigid attention he had ever done and saluting the girl, he spoke with great pride, "Oberfeldwebel Garland Durev, of the Kommando Spezialkraefte, at your service."

            "KSK…?"

            "Yes, ma'am. You alright?"

            "Who sent you? Are you some friend of my fathers?"

            "I do not know what you're talking about, ma'am. I heard your cries, and I came. I'm a student, just like you."

            "Oh," she relaxed.

            "C'mon. Let's get you back to your dorm. You must be tired."

            "Yeah… Are you coming?"

            "As an escort, ma'am."

            "Alright," a small smile adorned her face.

            "Smile more. You look much cuter that way."

            A soft blush crept up her cheeks. Suddenly, she gasped, her vision looking past the soldier, and screamed out, "Behind you!"

            The pervert had risen from his forced sleep, and was about to charge Garland with a jagged knife. Screaming garbled obscenities and foaming at the mouth, he thrust his knife with all his strength at the warrior's head.

            With a calm that only came to veterans of battle and conflict, the KSK Oberfeldwebel brought up his pistol and deflected the stab. The blade was stopped by the underside of the handgun's frame, gleaming steel against matte black, inches from his head. A fist shot out and hooked into the stomach of the pervert, knocking all air out of his lungs and even lifting him into the air. The knife dropped soundlessly to the ground, as well as the Tanfoglio. A look of wide-eyed shock and pain was frozen on the man's face.

            "Good night," Garland whispered as he withdrew his hand and watched the man stagger.

            Then the martial artist dashed forward and leapt, his left knee smashing into the dazed man's face. The right leg rotated with his body, a near 360 degree circle in the air, for a devastating heel drop onto the man's head. To a trained eye, one would see a rather strong glow encompassing Garland Durev. The "Revolver Crash" technique sent the man into a blissful unconsciousness; he would awaken with a shattered jaw, severely bruised ribs, and one hell of a concussion.

            Durev turned to face the amazed girl, and spoke, "You ok?"

            She nodded then burst out, "That was awesome! How did you do it?"

            "I've trained in martial arts since I was a kid. You want to learn?"

            "Hell yes!"

            "Heh heh. All right. Let's get campus security on this sicko, and then we'll get you home. We will start your training tomorrow, miss?"

            "Asuka. Asuka Langley Sohryu."

            "Well then, Miss Sohryu, shall we go?"

            "How do I know you're not like that pervert?"

            "Eh? What brought about this question?"

            "You came in at the perfect time, you have a perfect excuse, and it just seems unreal!"

            "I assure you, I have no relation to that pedophile. If you want, you can be the one that calls the man in," he held out his cell phone to the genius girl. It was snatched out of his hand.

            "Fine!" she was back to her familiar self, the bold and brash pre-teen in college.

            Garland simply grinned.

------------------------

            Over the months, the soldier and child spent more and more time together. Garland had found that Asuka was a wonderful study partner, if a bit blunt and impatient. He learned at a higher and more effective pace thanks to the girl's difficult quizzing. In return, Asuka was subject to a rather tough training regime, one that taxed her young body to its max, but she found herself in better shape than most athletes in the school. Heck, she and Garland could outrun the football team in terms of stamina. The martial arts lessons the KSK soldier gave her was effective in self-defense, concentration, and exercise, but Garland had to tone down the sparring and practice to accommodate the German redhead's much younger body.

            People would mutter, whisper rumors, and generally talk about the soldier and the child. The gossip was not always positive; tales of scandalous pedophilic acts and other immoral things were among the negative. Garland and Asuka would ignore the stares and avoid the ignorant. If they were so pig-headed and dim-witted that they would think of such things, let them stay that way. They'll feel pretty damn stupid later.

            Those who actually knew either individuals never believed the stories, and those of the military that knew Garland squashed such rumors quickly—their friend was in no way like that. They all knew of the girl as well, and actually made her an honorary member of Garland's troop: Oberstleutnant Asuka Langley Sohryu, 1st Commando Platoon,  "Kreiger" squad, of the Kommando Spezialkraefte. She outranked all the soldiers except the high command, and she was extremely happy about it—a dazzling smile had spread across her face when she was told. In fact, there was even a picture of the squad with Asuka in a miniature Battle Dress Uniform, a G3A3 rifle, and a huge grin saluting the camera, while everyone else kneeled to her left and right, in full gear and weapons. They all joked about the renamed "Asuka" squad. Both of the students had the picture in a nice oak frame in their dorm rooms.

            Things were pretty much clockwork in college: wake up, eat, practice, classes, eat, practice, study, eat, study some more, practice some more, sleep. Then the cycle would start over again… until the first Christmas that came, and the campus was blanketed in a thick fluffy pillow of snow. The two students were in Garland's roomy upperclassman apartment, studying for the midterms coming up. All was quiet until the shrill ring of the phone snapped both of them from their trances. Garland answered it cordially, and was thoroughly confused when the speaker asked for the German girl. Handing it to an equally shocked Asuka, he watched the young one with curious eyes.

            The martial artist watched the girl's face change from confusion, to surprise, elation, then to shock. He said nothing as she walked out of the room, so that she may have more privacy. Garland was worried—Asuka had a look of fear and distress before she stepped into the bedroom. Several of the longest minutes ever passed before the redhead came out, sadness evident on her face.

            "Asuka? What's wrong? Who was that on the phone?"

            "Papa… he wants me to return home. He says he wants to start over, with his wife… and me."

            "That's great, isn't it? Your father wanting you?"

            "That woman, she's not my momma. Momma… she died a while ago," this young child in front of Garland Durev was completely different from the Asuka he knew. Gone was the proud and fiery German girl. In her place was a deeply distraught and troubled person that looked so vulnerable. Her normal head-held-high, bright eyes, and a self-confident look that Garland always found cute had changed into a bowed head, dull and sad blue eyes, and a look of great melancholy replaced her confidence.

            "Asuka?"

            She suddenly turned and bolted for the door, grabbing her coat and boots and running down the stairs, leaving the door ajar as her tiny feet pounded down the concrete stairs. Garland looked on in stunned surprise, replaying the last few moments in his mind. The thing he kept seeing the most was the fact that her eyes seemed to glisten with unshed tears.

            She did not want him to see her cry…

            What happened to her mom? Something severely traumatic, most likely…

            Banishing such thoughts from his mind, he leapt up from his seat, throwing on a heavy black wool overcoat and boots, and gave chase. Outside had nearly half a meter of fresh powder snow, and fat snowflakes continued to drift down, obscuring vision. Had it not been for the very recently made trench and footprints in the snow, he would not have been able to determine Asuka's direction. Whatever the temperature was, it was warming up slowly.

            Several hundred meters down the path, a tree branch held a blood red wool coat in its twisted grasp. 

            Asuka's coat.

            Garland doubled his pace—without that coat, his friend would surely get hypothermia for staying out too long. Damn that girl! Training had allowed her to be much faster than she looked. His chase led him to a nearby park, one of many that surrounded the college campus. This particular park, however, had a lake that was good for fishing, boating, research, but not any winter sports over the ice. The lake itself was rather large, and the temperature rarely dropped low enough for all of the water to freeze into a safe thick layer of ice. Near the center would be perpetual thin ice, and signs would warn people of its dangers. However, due to the snow, the signs were covered and it seemed like the lake was part of the land. In Asuka's present state of distress, she would not be able to tell if she was on earth or water!

            The combat specialist followed the path until he reached a large flat area of perfect snow. Through the falling snow and wind, he was able to see something red colored moving across the land.

            "ASUKA! STOP! YOU'RE ON THE ICE!" he yelled, but it did not seem like she heard him. Resuming his chase, Garland's speed allowed him to reach where the "beach" would be, and the waterline starts. But before he could take one step onto the ice, the red color disappeared.

            He stopped breathing. His heart ceased to beat. Time itself seemed to freeze at that moment.

            She had fallen through.

            "NOOOO!" time restarted with Garland already running at top speed to Asuka's last location, a sizable hole in the ground. The black waters showed nothing. With a great cry, his bare fist came crashing down onto the ice, breaking the frozen water into pieces, and making a much larger hole. He threw off his jacket, took a deep breath, and dove in, a mini Maglight in hand.

            Immediately intense needles of cold assaulted his very being, numbness quickly consuming his body. The icy waters stung his eyes as the chill penetrated deeply into his body. He had to find the girl quickly, or else they will both freeze. The Maglight gave a nearly tangible beam of light in the black water, the shaft of light whipping around frantically to find anything that resembled the redhead. Garland was getting hysterical when a pillar of bubbles tickled his face and caused him to look down.

            Drifting slowly through the water was his friend, her fiery hair spread around her like a halo and her eyes gently shut.

            Suppressing fear and panic, Garland dove deeper to catch her, scooping her up from the grasp of dark freezing water. She was somewhat heavy, as was the soldier, due to their heavy winter gear soaking up so much liquid. As he rose to the surface, he realized in horror that they had drifted away from the hole, and was currently under a thick layer of ice. Such a layer would be near impossible to break through with bare hands alone…

            _What…?_

_            No…_

_            I…_

            Two voices reverberated in his mind, one his own, the other familiar yet unknown,

            **_I will not die._**

            A hand shot through the ice, piercing through the thick and rather solid ice. The fist retracted and shot through again at a different spot. This repeated itself once more, followed by a glowing red fist that blew apart the cracking ice. Massive chunks of frozen water and snow flew into the air, allowing a large hole to form in the ice. The same glowing fist came out again, the fingers like hooks, digging into the ice well enough to pull two bodies out of the freezing waters: a man in black, and a much younger girl wearing a dark green sweater. Garland carried Asuka his arms, holding her close against his chest. She began to cough and suck in large gasps of air, shivering violently and icicles already forming on her; the KSK soldier was unbelievably glad that she had not drowned. Grabbing his coat and wrapping it around the soaked girl, he ran faster than he ever had, plowing through the snow as if it wasn't there. Now, the redhead seemed nearly weightless in his arms, even with water saturated clothing. Limitless energy seemed to propel him forward. He had to get home, get her warmed up, get her safe. Quickly, or else she would die from hypothermia.

            No one was there to see that Garland's eyes were blood red.

            The eyes of the True Dread.

            To be continued.

------------------------

A/N: Yeah, it's a two parter. Expect the next part in two weeks or so. I got a school play to work, a concert to play, and colleges to look at. Oh yes, I've applied to some, and already I've been accepted to some. Penn State looks mighty good right now.

 What's a True Dread, you may ask?

*deadpans* Sore wa himitsu desu.

And yes, I have made it so that Asuka receives her well-known yellow sundress from Garland. All Evangelion fans should know of this dress. It is that piece of clothing Asuka is wearing when Shinji and Misato first meet her on the Supercarrier Over The Rainbow. It is also believed that it is her favorite dress, considering she wears it so often….

Anyways, I think I should tell you guys a bit about the KSK, and the German terms I used in this story.

First off, the ranks:

Oberfeldwebel (Garland's rank at the time) is the German equivalent of a Master Sergeant.

Oberstleutnant (Asuka's unofficial rank) is the German equivalent of a Lieutenant Colonel.

Actually, you know what? I'm too lazy to type up info about the KSK right now, so I'll just ask you guys to search it up on google.com or something. Search for "Kommando Spezialkraefte." There are a number of sites out there that talk about them.

See you guys later.


	8. Chapter 6b: Flashes

**Disclaimer: **See the foreword. I own nothing. Oh, but Lieutenant Matthew Reese belongs to RuneKnightPictures.

**Author's Babble:** Good freaking lord this one took a while. You know why? A combination of losing my computer for a while, writer's block, not having time, and laziness. I want to apologize for taking so long in cranking this one out, and you can bet that I'll get the next few chapters out in a much faster manner. That is, if my school allows me… It's nearing the end for me, and the teachers decided to throw all their crap at me all at once. Wonderful… Anyways, this chapter is not as good as previous chapters, since after a while I said "screw it" and typed out whatever was good. Bah. Read and review, that's all I ask of you now.

EDIT: I added an extra scene!

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

------------------------

**Chapter 6b: Flashes**

            With a cheery ping, the elevator doors opened to the second basement floor. The compartment gained a few pounds as a long burst of automatic gunfire spat volumes of hot lead and brass into the small space. The four men shooting into the elevator were behind cover, expecting a grenade to bounce out of the ceiling. They did not expect to see a semi-transparent shape suddenly burst out from the elevator, moaning and screaming in unholy tones. The ghostly apparition shot forward, bearing the scars and wounds of its former life. It was distinctly male, wearing the NBC gear of the Genome Army and bearing multiple slash wounds upon his body. The most evident injuries were the single massive gash starting from his left shoulder and ending at his right hip, and his head hanging off by a sliver of flesh. It was a soldier from a while back, when Solid Snake first infiltrated the facility and discovered the Cyborg Ninja massacre. With another unearthly shriek, the ghost attacked.

            The living soldiers were frozen in fear, despite all their training. They were used to fighting guerillas, enemy soldiers, and whatever conventional and unconventional warfare a country could throw at them, but against something supernatural like an angry spirit, they knew nothing. All the Genome soldiers could do was stare in shock and horror as it quickly floated towards them, banshee wails deafening.

            One fell, the intangible ghost somehow tearing into the man as if the spirit was actually there. Gashes and wounds appeared all over the soldier, forming wherever the clawed hands of the apparition touched. Their rifles were ineffective against it, as bullets passed right through, and did nothing to move the ghost. Suddenly, two more white shapes burst forth from the walls, pouncing upon the remaining Special Forces members. Terrified screams and unholy wails echoed throughout the otherwise empty halls. Other than rotted corpses, a gas filled chamber, and gun-cameras, there were no other presences on the floor. Three men lay on the ground, limbs flailing wildly as the spirits mauled them, while the fourth looked on in shocked surprise, unable to do anything to help his teammates.

            A balaclava covered head peeked out from the elevator compartment, hidden by the lip of the doors and button wall; on the other side was a larger man, unconscious but breathing normally. Maggie watched the carnage for several seconds before pulling out a grenade she had taken from the mercenary. It had been primed for a second already, and she threw it at the three-second count, giving the fuse only two more seconds before the weapon detonated. It bounced twice before rolling though the open door, not noticed by any of the four NGSF troopers.

            The grenade exploded in a cloud of shrapnel and fire. Contrary to what many video games portrayed, fragmentation grenades did not kill with explosive force or fire. Instead, it is the bits and pieces of lethal metal shards that the grenade throws into the air that makes it so deadly—that is where fragmentation comes from. Heavily armored soldiers could survive a close encounter with a frag grenade because the thick layers of armor would catch the shrapnel, but most soldiers are protected with a flak jacket and a few layers of cloth, providing a minimal level of protection against most projectiles.

            As metal fragments tore into the screaming soldiers and ripped their flesh to bits, the ghosts that were snacking on them no longer had victims to attack, and so turned to face the one that called them. Before they could even begin to fly towards the necromancer, she waved an arm into the air to draw an invisible rune, and shouted,

            "Exorcise!"

             With earth-rendering shrieks of anguish and terror, the summoned spirits dissipated into nothingness. Seeing that nothing else was present, she turned back into the elevator and pressed the B1 button; her ally lay still unconscious, only breathing slowly.

            In her haste to get the martial artist out of the choking gas and into safety, she had slammed her hand on the B2 button, sending them on an unneeded trip to the computer labs. Maggie actually wanted the Commander's Hall level, so that she would access to some first-aid supplies on the floor. When the doors opened, they revealed an empty hallway; no one appeared on her radar, so she could safely assume it was clear. Hoisting the larger man in a fireman's carry, the FOX-HOUND commando dragged Garland's body into one of the smaller rooms in the office area. A thorough search of the rooms wielded nothing but the standard first-aid kits, some rations, and oddly enough, Nikita and Stinger ammunition.

            Returning to the room Garland was in, she plopped down next to the mercenary.

            "Damn it, Garland. Wake up already! Otherwise I'm leaving your ass right here!" she hissed at the sleeping man.

            He could not reply, for obvious reasons.

            Thompson sat there for ten minutes, munching on beef jerky pilfered off Durev's person, and jumped when her Codec suddenly began to blare.

            "What the hell?" she whispered as she reached up to answer. "I thought it was jammed…"

            Springing up on the green Codec screen was a man she and several FOX-HOUND members did not have good relations with.

            "Thompson! Why haven't you called in for three hours?!" Lieutenant Reese barked at her.

            "Sir! I couldn't! Communications was jammed!" she would not DARE mention she was captured, lest she anger the already volatile officer.

            "Don't give me that, girl! You are late and that is that! Have you found your objectives?"

            "Negative, sir. I have no—"

            "Damn it, Thompson, it is imperative you find those bodies!" Reese's face was deep red with anger and frustration.

            "Sir, I still don't understand why I need to find the corpses of old FOX-HOUND members."

            "You don't need to understand! Your mind is incapable of understanding why we need those bodies! Now shut up and hurry with your mission! You have less than six hours remaining. Any more, and you'll be hearing from the Colonel as well as I!"

            The transmission abruptly cut off, citing a sigh of relief from Maggie as she suddenly felt exhausted. Of course, whenever she or any of the "weird" FOX-HOUND members had to deal with the man, it often left them in anger, stressed, and oddly tired. It was not unknown how much the Special Forces members disliked the Lieutenant, as he often showed a general dislike of every member and soldier. Most of his anger was directed towards the "gifted" soldiers, that is, the men and women with unique skills and abilities such as Maggie Thompson. It was questionable as to _why_ the guy was there, and how he got in, but no one could do a thing about him because of his rank, power, and connections.

            She looked at Garland once more before settling into a more comfortable position. The FOX-HOUND operative could not afford to let the mercenary out of her sight, lest he prove to be detrimental to her mission.

---------------------------

            In that small room, next to the frustrated soldier, lay supine a man. Garbed in black, blue, and gray, the only flesh exposed was his head. Short black hair spiked forward fluttered lightly in the warm breeze from the vents. Slow deep breathes showed he was alive, yet sleeping. Faint twitches of his eyes meant he was in REM sleep, dreaming a little dream.

            That dark, malevolent voice stilled echoed though the shadows of his mind, calming yet brimming with hidden strength.

            _That's right… we saved that girl, didn't we…_

            "Damn it girl, hold on! I must get you warm…!" A soaked Garland Durev cried as he tore though the icy cold air of the snowbound university. Within his arms was a drenched bundle of frozen red hair and pale alabaster skin, wrapped tightly in a thick black woolen topcoat. She was shivering heavily, meaning her core body temperature had dropped to dangerous level. No doubt frostbite had set in already, further compounding upon the hypothermia already ravaging the girl's frail child body. Her body temperature must be brought back to safe levels, otherwise the girl known as Asuka Langley Sohryu, would die.

            Garland's eyes were still crimson as he ran back his college home.

            To the older man, eternity passed before the door to his apartment was kicked open and hot water poured from his bathtub's faucet. As steaming water slowly filled the tub, Garland continued to treat the cold girl. Her water soaked clothing was detrimental to her health, and so were slashed off by the soldier's combat knife. Asuka was still shivering badly, as the pale blush skin of her nude body meant a heavy reduction in blood circulation.

            "Damn it! Hurry up!" Durev cried at the faucet. The water seemed to trickle out slowly, torturing the apprehensive student. When the water levels reached a minimum depth, the badly shaking redhead was gently placed into the steaming water. Her shivers splashed the hot liquid around at first, but soon the rising depth changed the splashing into small waves.

            The KSK soldier dared not move, fearing that the moment he left the room, Asuka's condition may worsen. So he kneeled there, still wearing his soaked turtleneck and khakis, waiting for the girl to show him that she was fine. He checked his watch, comparing the current time with the time when he left the building. Five minutes to chase her down, a minute to search the water… but… only thirty seconds to run back from the lake to home?! No, that's not right. On average it took Garland ten minutes to walk leisurely to the lake, five running.

            His thoughts were broken as he saw a miniscule, barely noticeable twitch. Her eyes had moved. Some color had returned to her complexion, and her muscle spasms had slowed somewhat. Still, this would not be enough to treat hypothermia—he would need professional medical assistance. But then, her family would find out as medical payments show up at their home.

            Garland's thoughts were conflicted. If he called the local hospital, Asuka would receive the medical treatment she needed, but would be open to retrieval by her family. But since she was greatly affected by a simple phone call from her father, it was obvious she did not want anything to do with her relatives, and he wanted to respect her feelings…

            Wait, that's right! There were several medical students in the same apartment building as him, and several of them owed favors to Special Forces soldier; some of the students were very close to getting their degrees, and were practically legal doctors. He could pull in those favors they owed, and get Asuka somewhat-professional help. Making sure the water was hot enough, he jumped up from his kneel and bolted down to the lower floor, banging harshly upon one of the doors.

            "Erik! Answer the door, quickly!" Garland shouted.

            "Ja, ja, I'm coming!" came the muffled reply. The door opened to reveal a lean and tall man with short blond hair, gray-green eyes, and slim eyeglasses. The medical student glanced into Garland's eyes momentarily, and jumped back in surprise and shock, a gasp escaping his lips as he stumbled backwards.

            "Erik? What's wrong? You look spooked," Durev blinked and looked worriedly at the older man.

            He took several breaths before collecting himself and readjusting his glasses, "It's… it's nothing. For a moment there, I thought your irises were as red as blood, and you had this cold and evil look upon you. Anyways, what is it that you want?"

            Garland ignored the statement about his eyes and look, "I'm calling in that favor you owe me. A good friend of mine is suffering from hypothermia, and we cannot go to the hospital for treatment."

            "Eh? You want me to treat her, then? Forget it! What happens if I screw up? My future as a doctor is ruined!"

            "Nothing will happen to you, I swear. I just want you to look her over and tell me what needs to be done. A diagnosis; I will handle the rest."

            Erik sighed, unable to go back on his honor, "Alright, Durev, I'll do it."

            Garland released a breath he didn't know he was holding, " Thank you so much."

            "By the way, aren't you cold? Your clothes are saturated with water!"

            "Eh?" he looked down on himself, taking into notice for the first time his wet clothing. "Now that you mention it, it is kind of chilly… but forget about me. My friend is in my bathtub right now—I've placed her in a bath of hot water."

            "Excellent. You've done well. Leave the rest up to me."

------------------------

            A year and a half passed since that dreadful day, and coming up rapidly was Garland's completion of studies, and subsequently a promotion. A board of senior KSK and Bundeswehr officers was reviewing his records, and a promotion to Hauptmann (captain) was in order. Afterwards, he would be shipped off to some base and continue his training along with other Special Forces units, and strengthen his command skills. Unfortunately, this also meant the separation from his good friend, Asuka.

            "So, you're going to leave me?" she asked one weekend afternoon, as the two of them lounged lazily under the cool shade of an oak. The redhead was sitting up with her back against the hard bark while the older man was on his back, legs sprawled out and his hands under his head. The warm day made everyone rather lethargic, so relaxing under shade was common among the students.

            "I'm not leaving forever, Asuka. I'm merely heading back to headquarters for training and work—remember that I am of active service," the soldier knew it was going to be one of those talks.

            "I know… but you won't be _here_. I'll be lonely again."

            "You can always find more friends, right? It'll be all right; I promise to visit!"

            "You're leaving me, just like everyone I care about…" Tears were threatening to fall.

            "Hey now, it's not like that. I'm not leaving because I do not care; it's my career I must return to," Damn, she looked close to tears, and Garland knew how much she hated crying. The young girl promised herself a long time ago that she would never cry again, yet events of the past year have brought her rather close to breaking that oath. "Look, I have already made plans for this, and I have a solution."

            "What is it?"

            "Here," he reached into his pocket and retrieved a rather high-tech cell phone. "There's no limit to the phone's range. The network covers every meter of this world, so it's 'local' every time you call. I bought one for myself—this model is for you."

            The young girl took the gift gently, cradling the sleek and deceptively simplistic azure blue electronic as if it were a fragile flower.

            "Blue, to match your eyes. Next week is graduation, and my assignment to a squad. We'll be working every day, training to hone our abilities. I won't be given much in terms of free time, but I will be available 24/7 through that phone. You need me, just call me anytime. Is that ok with you, Asuka?"

            "I guess so…"

            "Once I get my permanent quarters, I'll call to tell you my address, so we can send letters if you feel like it."

            "But it won't be the same, without you here."

            "There is not much I can change about that. I'm sorry. But I'll still be nearby and available on the phone if you need me."

            "What about my training? I'm still a novice in the Art."

            "…It's like a circle with no circumference. Learning never stops. Besides, Jeet Kune Do is more like a way of thinking, rather than a style of fighting. Heh, Bruce Lee did not even call JKD a style, but more like the search for ultimate spirituality and physique; don't think, just go with the flow. It's not about techniques or special attacks, but what you truly are. You are searching for the truth, your full self, and Jeet Kune Do merely helps in finding it."

            "Yeah…"

            "Hey, cheer up! I'll still be around, and we'll stay in contact," Garland opened his eyes and peered at the girl with gray-blue eyes, "Let's grab some lunch at that new place near the school canteen, my treat!"

            Asuka, being one not to miss out on being with a friend or free food, simply smiled and nodded.

-------------------------

            A gentle breeze blew between two fighters, facing each other on top of an apartment building.

            One was a tall man, dressed in a black tank top, forest camouflage BDU pants, and black combat boots.

            The other was as short young girl, looking no older than seven. She wore baggy sweatpants, sneakers, and a loose t-shirt that fluttered in the wind.

            The girl dashed forward suddenly, striking with quick punches in an attempt to penetrate the larger man's defenses. Her attacks were easily blocked and parried; simple and subtle movements of the man's arms deflected the blows completely.

            "Come at me! Faster! Stronger! You will not be able to defeat an opponent with such slowness!" the older one chided. The girl said nothing in response, other than to gradually increase the speed of her strikes.

            "Better! But still too slow!" A kick was pushed to the side as he pressed into the attack. Suddenly shifting from offense to defense, the girl clumsily put up a shaky block. It stopped an incoming punch, but did little to distribute the force, thus the girl was launched several feet backwards and onto her posterior. She had landed near a weapons rack, a simple stand for spears or quarterstaffs. The spears had a blunt painted tip for a spearhead; if a mark appeared on you, it meant the blade made contact.

            The girl had some experience in using pole arms, having trained a bit with her sensei, but decided that a weapon would be more effective in this spar.

            "A weapon, now? Don't rely on it too much—a weapon does not make the warrior," her master advised as he slid into a ready stance.

            She charged, feinting a jab to the legs in order to use the spear as a pole vault. The vault shifted into a flying kick, the maneuver having added substantial velocity to her strike.

            The girl's opponent ducked the kick and stepped into the space she formerly occupied, grabbing her spear as he moved. In a single fluid motion, he twisted around and threw the weapon, hurling it straight towards the landing girl.

            Asuka turned around in time to see the weapon fly straight towards her, panicked, and threw her arms up in defense. She waited for the inevitable strike and pain, but it never came. Her eyes opened to see the spear inches away from her face, the weapon caught by her teacher's grip.

            "Blocking will not always stop an attack. Cowering before one will only make it hurt more. Instead, avoid the attack or make it become your own," Garland instructed as he retracted the weapon and handed it to her. "Throw it at me. I'll show you what you can do. But you must be quick to react and move."

            The redheaded German girl hefted the spear, took aim, and threw it with all her might. A long time ago she had learned not to hold back when training or sparring with her sensei, as it would not only detract from her development, but it will give a false message to Garland about her skill level.

            Moments before the pole arm touched Garland, he turned his body to the side while leaning backwards slightly, moving only several inches away from his original position, but enough for the spear to miss him completely. As it zipped by, he reached out and grabbed the shaft, pulling it into his grasp.

            "That looked so easy," Asuka muttered as she reviewed the simple dodge in her mind.

            "Simple, quick, and minimal. It's easy to do, so as long as you train your speed and reaction time. Forget what averages or scientists say; your reaction time can improve, and soon it'll be instinct to avoid and counter," Garland lectured as he handed the spear back and picked up his own oaken quarterstaff. "We'll work on that over time, perhaps with heavier weights while running and some wall ball."

            Despite the childlike idea of the game, Garland could throw a tennis ball nearly 90 miles an hour, making dodging or catching extremely difficult. It was a nice way to train instinctive evasion and reflexes while having fun at the same time, especially when more people joined in.

            "Now, let's try some armed combat."

------------------------

            "I didn't want this day to come," muttered a young girl with fiery hair and sapphire eyes. Her usual perky and energetic personality was replaced by a somber visage. Together with a small group of friends, she stood facing a much taller man in German military fatigues. Slung over his right shoulder was an olive drab rucksack stuffed to the brim with possessions and clothing, several suitcases sat in a small pull-trolley.

            "You all know as much as I do how much I dreaded this day," he said with a sad smile, looking over the friends he made in college. Around him were other military graduates, bidding farewell to friends and family.

            "You are a good friend, Garland, and we will all miss you," Erik said, grateful for the help and experience Durev gave him. He was the proud recipient of a medical degree, having graduated at the same time as the Special Forces soldier.

            "Don't worry, bro, I'll watch over Asuka," piped up a younger girl. Elena was a third year student that had met the martial artist at a football meet (during which she saw Garland and Asuka outrun the team, again.), and since then stayed close in hopes of learning from the guy.

            A high-pitched whistle pierced the air, signaling for all passengers for final boarding.

            "Well guys, this is it. I'll see you around," he smiled sadly again and turned to go. Something grabbed him suddenly, forcing him to jerk to a stop. He sighed, "Asuka…"

            "You promise to call?" her voice was muffled as she buried her face deeply into the folds of Garland's clothes.

            "Of course, my dear. I will call you once I arrive at base, and you can call me anytime you wish," he said as he slowly stepped out of the younger girl's embrace.

            Despite the modern times, trains were still a popular and speedy mode of transportation. Such a random thought passed through Garland's head as he settled into a seat. A pity he could not sit near the window—he wanted to see his friends one last time as he sped off.

            _And maybe I would see someone chasing the train to keep me in their sight…_ the former student thought bitterly. Once he stepped into the military world, there would always be a chance he would not return safely. It was a danger to all men of the armed forces, especially Special Ops. The view from the train window may be the final time his friends may see him, and he them…

            She had sworn years ago that she would no longer cry. The child of Kyoko Zeppelin Sohyru had promised that she would never cry for any reason ever again. However as she watched the slowly accelerating train containing a close friend roll away, tears were fighting desperately to be released. Turning away so as to hide her face, she could not bear to see another person she loved leave her.

            "Asuka, Asuka, look!" Erik's gentle voice prodded her to turn around. Her eyes widened, her face frozen between shock and happiness. Youthful exuberance soon took the place of sadness, and she began to wave frantically.

            Slowly but surely, the train rolled away. Carriage after carriage moved by faster and faster as the train accelerated out. And in the final carriage, the caboose of the train, there stood Garland Durev, standing outside on the platform, waving goodbye. The wake of the train generated a strong wind, causing the loose flaps of Garland's coat to float in the wind. It made a dramatic exit, like the sad ending to a movie. But Garland was right, it would be the last time he would see his friends for a long time…

------------------------

            "No… no no no no!" sobbed a hysterical college student, staggering away from the archway of the door. On the other side of the door stood a German military official, an officer of the Kommando Spezialkraefte. He was given the terrible responsibility of delivering one of the worst messages anyone could get:

            Hauptmann Garland Durev was killed in action seven days ago.

            With his head still bowed and shoulders straight, he closed the door for the girl. He was one of the original "Asuka" squad members, before his friend received a promotion and the squad was rearranged; delivering the message was just as hard on him as it was for the young girl. Only his training and professionalism prevented him from staggering in shock and gloom. Since Garland had no real family, it was debated as to who the message would be delivered to, but it was secretly agreed by several members that the dead soldier's college friends would be informed, as they were the closest family Garland had. The officer stepped away from the dorm room and continued his trek—he still had the unfortunate responsibility to tell the other friends…

            Outside, the rain continued to pour down, as if the skies were crying along with the young girl.

            Asuka had retreated into her bedroom, having thrown herself onto her bed in a fit of anger and sorrow. So far into her grief that she failed to hear her phone ring. Once, twice, three times, until the fourth ring activated the little answering machine Elena had bought her. A moment passed as the machine's recorded greeting met the call, and a few seconds passed with only heavy breathing being recorded into the message. Finally, a voice, haggard and exhausted sounding, reverberated from the speakers,

            "I… am… not… dead!"

            It was thought to be of coincidence, that such a message be delivered shortly after the death notice. Regardless, Asuka's attention shifted just in time to hear the end of the phrase. Slowly, as if doubting the validity of the call, she crept closer to the small recording device.

            "I'm sorry, but I cannot exist in this world any longer. They believe I am dead, and I wish to keep it that way. Don't ask questions why, just understand on paper and in records, Garland Durev is dead. Do not worry for me, because I will never forsake you. I'm sorry, Asuka… Good bye."

            She tore the phone from its cradle and screamed his name, "Garland! Garland! Wait! I'm here!"

            But it was too late; he had hung up already. The only thing she heard was the dial tone. Asuka slumped to her knees, memories good and bad assaulting her frail mind once more.

            He had left her, just like everyone else.

            But he was alive, and he would come back someday…

            That thought alone brought a smile to her face.

-------------------------

            He awoke with aching muscles, a raw throat, and a sore chest. Stifling a groan, he rolled to his side, trying to diminish the dull throbbing pain in his chest and head. Unexpectedly his head rolled into a rather soft and comfortable lap. Blue-gray eyes cracked open slightly to gaze upon a feminine face, brown hair framing the outline as a bright light overhead gave a halo-like appearance. He smiled sleepily, since whoever's lap he was laying in was rather cute, and she looked a lot like an angel from this angle…

            As his vision cleared, the face became more distinct, blurriness fading away to show a frowning Maggie Thompson.

            Garland's smile melted away, and his eyes snapped open in fear and shock.  Rolling off her lap and on to his feet smoothly, he began to babble apologies,

            "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you!" He repeated several times, as if to ward off any attacks that may come from her.

            With a grim look and distained eyes, Maggie walked up to him, stared into his waiting eyes, and slapped him lightly on a cheek.

            "Bad boy. Don't do it again," she chastised.

            "Wha…?" was the mercenary's intelligent response.

            "Have a nice nap? Who's Asucar, anyways?"

            Garland winched at the unintentional butchering of the German girl's name.

            "Asuka. She was someone I knew back in college days."

            "Oooh, a girlfriend?"

            "No… more like a younger sister."

            "Ah, I see. Now that you're awake and all, shall we continue?"

            "Lead the way, ma'am. You know the facility better than I do."

            "Good boy," she said as she took point, heading towards the commander's room.

            "What's the plan, anyways?"

            "My plan is to go the same way as Solid Snake did when he passed through here: pass the communication towers to reach REX's cage."

            "I see, and what will you do once you get down there?"

            "None of your business, merc."

            Damn. She's still angry about something…

------------------------

            "They'll come through here, I'm sure," whispered a supine man gazing large telescopic sight

            "Yeah, but why do we care? Why do we have to do this?" his partner asked as he spotted down range with a pair of powerful binoculars.

            "Because, dumbass, that one guy has killed a whole bunch of us off. That girl is FOX-HOUND, and you can't expect anything good when it's them," the soldier did not move from his vigilance.

            "Still, do we have to use this thing?"

            The rifleman's response was to pull back the charging lever of the weapon he manned, loading a round into the monstrous rifle,

            "The only sure-fire way to put them down for good. Nothing can survive sucking down one of these."

------------------------

A/N: Hey Rune, how was Reese? Did I picture him well in the very brief appearance he makes?


	9. Chapter 7: Dangerous Lives

**Disclaimer:** See the foreword.

**Author's Babble:** I'm really sorry this took so long. It was more work than I expected, and a lot of stuff is going on in real life that's slowing me down. I made the chapter a bit longer than usual to compensate. Nothing else to say but read and review.

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

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**Chapter 7: Dangerous Lives**

An icy blast of cold air rushed into the heated room as the door slid open. Mercenary and Special Forces operator stepped through the threshold to enter a dark, bone-chillingly cold glacier populated with several wolf dog hybrids. Other than the danger of being mauled by the animals, all they needed to do was get to the other side—easier said than done when it was dark enough to require night vision goggles and you had to crawl on your stomach to get through. Luckily, Garland's "ODIN" headset was still intact, so he could easily see with either night vision or thermal vision.

"Damn it, I can't see a thing!" Thompson complained as she peered into the dark.

"I'm seeing everything just fine," Durev said with a grin.

"Oh shut up."

"Looks like I'm guide again."

"Whatever. Just lead, damn… it…" she trailed off as something caught her attention, something dark, yet light; evil, yet good; haunted, yet satisfied. Even in the darkness her necromancer abilities gave her an extra sense in finding a spirit. There, in the corner, surrounded by ice and rock; a dead man, but well preserved by the temperature and the material he had been wrapped in. A quick delve into the area brought back foggy scenes of battle. Two men, one with a gray-blue thermal sneaking suit that FOX-HOUND used in artic missions (Maggie wondered why they didn't issue her a suit like that), the other in a skin-tight leather-like body suit that left his shoulders and upper arms exposed, as well as his head, but his face was covered by something; it appeared to be a gas mask. On the ground lay a young woman with fiery hair, a temporary FOX-HOUND tattoo, and a .50AE Desert Eagle magnum handgun on the ground next to her. The two men were locked in combat, a battle of wills and psyches. In the end, the spy had won.

Yes, this was one of them: the former world's most powerful practitioner of telepathy and psychokinesis, the Dream Robber, Psycho Mantis.

With a quick motion of her hand, she placed a very small device upon the ice. It was a beacon transmitter, delivering an encrypted signal to her HQ that told them of the device's location. She made it look like she was using the rock wall for support, making the placement as subtle as possible. Fortunately, Garland was looking away from her, more intent on finding an exit from the glacier. Even if he had been looking at her, the night vision would not have picked up the blurry and obscured corpse of the former FOX-HOUND operative, and the body would have been so cold thermal vision would not pick it up.

She sighed quietly, thankful that a part of her mission was finally complete. There may be more bodies to find, but at least she would not return empty-handed. The soft padding of small feet alerted her to another presence, most likely the wolf dogs that inhabited the area.

With an angry bark, one of the larger animals lunged at Garland, its hungry jaws aiming for the mercenary's neck.

Garland grunted as the animal's tackle and weight caught him by surprise, pushing him off balance and onto the icy wet floor. He could easily hold off the grasping bites and lunges of this particular wolf dog, but more may be joining the party soon. If there were anything that could defeat a martial artist, one of them would be overwhelming numbers attacking at the same time.

"Piss off!" he hissed at the creature while whipping out his pistol. A quick double tap sent two 9mm "shredder" rounds into the dog's face, killing it instantly. Throwing the corpse off of him, he got up to see the shocked face of his ally.

"You… you just…" she stammered.

"Stow it. It was the dogs or me; which would you prefer?"

"The dogs. They're not as ruthless or cruel as you," she spat. Obviously, she was a dog lover of sorts.

Ouch.

"I see. Come; let's continue. I see a hole at the bottom of the wall—we'll have to crawl to get through," he dropped to his stomach and pulled himself through the opening. Immediately after he was halfway through, a second wolf dog clamped its jaws around Garland's armored gauntlet.

"Aaagh!" he cried out in surprise, and tried to wrestle his arm out of the dog's maw.

"Hmm… looks like you're having some problems, merc," spoke a feminine alto above him. She was around already?!

"How…?" his attention was diverted to the commando before him.

"There's a hole in the wall near the commander's room entrance. It's too big for you to fit through, but I'm small enough," Maggie grinned as she stepped by. "I'll be waiting for you at the door. Don't hurt anymore dogs now, you hear?"

"Damn it!" Garland grunted out as a third dog came around and bit down on his other gauntlet, and began pulling the opposite direction of the second dog. How was he going to get out of this mess without injuring these stupid animals?!

…

…

…

"Screw it," the mercenary muttered as he brought his arms together, smashing the dogs against each other. With a yelp of pain, the animals released their grip on the mercenary, giving him time to pull out of the hole and sprint to the next. Rather than crawling, Garland opted to dive instead, sliding rather roughly across the snowy ice. Another bark greeted him, and as he jumped up to prepare a strike, the soldier-for-hire blinked in surprise. Unlike the previous wolf dogs, this fourth one was a puppy, and did little but bark and growl.

"So you're resorting to beating up puppies, merc?" she smirked, but without the usual softness or playfulness.

"Um… I uh…"

"Whatever. Let's go."

Colder than ice... ouch.

------------------------

The moment Garland and Maggie stepped into the long underground tunnel they were assaulted by a flash of light. Unlike the dark and clammy glacier, the tunnel was well illuminated by rows of florescent lights. Garland's "ODIN" goggles had automatically shut off at the sudden influx of bright light, leaving him with a black screen. Although the room was already cold from the local climate, the mercenary could not shake the feeling of dread welling up in his chest.

"I have a bad feeling about this…" he muttered as he tried to focus his vision down the path.

"Ah! So the mercenary has feelings now? He appears to be more human than ever before!" mocked the younger commando next to him.

"Look, what the hell is your problem? Is it that big of a deal that I shot that dog?" Garland whirled to face her, gray-blue eyes flashing in the light.

She looked back at him with equal intensity, "Not just the dogs. Those men you've been killing ever since you got here!"

"What the hell is this about? Because it's my job to clean out this island?"

"It's a choice! You can choose not to kill these people!"

"Damn it, girl. This is not the time for ethics or morals! Both of us are in enemy territory. They will shoot us without remorse, and then boast about it until later American black ops come through and clean it out in its entirety!"

"Shut up! You're doing this for the money; I know it. Killing without remorse is your specialty, not these men and women stuck here for a year already!"

"Will you stop it with the insults?! It's bad enough I'm always reminded of the things I've done. I don't need another person to rub it in for me, especially not some pacifistic wench that works for an assassination squad."

"Wha?"

"Every night I dream of the people I've killed, their blood splashing onto my uniform. The life fluid of countless men and women forever stains my hands; their faces haunt my vision and their terrified screams echo constantly in my ears. There is a demon inside of me, one that relishes violence and death. A monster of relentless anger and hatred, his hands are my own, the blood he spills I smell and taste.

"There is nothing else in this world I can do right but kill. FOX-HOUND should know this better than anyone, as they are basically an overly glorified death squad consisting of masters of killing. How can you, a FOX-HOUND commando, deny that you've ever killed a person that was not in self defense? I've seen you fight, not half bad considering your ideals. What's your confirmed kill count? Twenty? Thirty?"

"…Sixty-seven," she whispered.

"HA!" Garland barked out a laugh. "Four hundred, seventy-two confirmed kills. I have many more unconfirmed kills as well. Though I outscore you considerably, you have as much blood staining your soul as I do. Do not call me a murderer, because we all are."

A dead silence split the air, so quiet that it deafened the two soldiers to the rest of the world.

"Let's go. You need to finish your mission, and I mine. Enough of this crap," Garland had quickly calmed down and used his soft voice, but it no longer had that soothing quality to it. Quietly nodding, Maggie stepped forward to take point again.

They had walked several feet before Garland grabbed Maggie and threw her to the side, placing her behind a corner and into cover.

"Son of a bitch!" the girl cried as she landed hard against the wall, surprised by the sudden action. Her FA-MAS was in her hands at the time, and she had dropped it when she got pushed. She could only watch in horror as her rifle suddenly exploded in a burst of torn metal.

"Son of a bitch!" Garland shouted as he twisted his body in an attempt to dodge a rather large and heavy bullet zipping by. It impacted on the door behind him.

"Son of a bitch!" cursed a man behind a 14.5x114mm NTW-20 anti-materiel rifle. He recovered his sights, loaded a round, and squeezed the trigger once again.

A second anti-tank round rocketed down the range, heading straight for the male's chest. If it impacted, it would easily tear through armor, bone, flesh, and exit out of the back, leaving either a gigantic hole in the abdomin or rip him in half.

The man cursed again—that mercenary was dodging the damn bullets! How the hell do you dodge a Russian 14.5mm round?! The bullet had a muzzle velocity of 1000 meters a second, with over 31000 joules of kinetic energy in it!

(---A/N: For those who don't know, it basically means it's really freakin' fast, and hits REALLY freakin' hard. The average M-16 has a muzzle velocity of 975 meters a second with about 1700 joules of energy---)

------------------------

In Garland's eyes and mind, everything seemed to slow down. He could see the muzzle flash, the distortion in the air as the huge bullet tore through the air, and he could tell where the projectile would go. Although his movements seemed sluggish, it was simply an optical illusion—his body could simply not move as fast as his mind reacted, a common issue with combat-hardened and instinctive senses. At the same time, his "danger sense" was screaming at him where the bullet might impact, and moved his body accordingly.

The first bullet zipped through the space Maggie had previously occupied, ripping through her French weapon and continuing into a heavy metal door. Garland had to shift slightly backwards to avoid the shower of flak. Air pressure and the wake created by the bullet pulled at his suit sharply—had it not been for his suit, the sheer vacuum created by the round would have ripped his flesh to ribbons. The shift slid into a full backwards lean, avoiding an anti-tank round that would have ventilated his chest. The lean transformed into a back flip as a third shot pierced the air, sailing harmlessly through the space Garland was in moments before. The maneuver brought him behind cover, opposite of Maggie. During the brief "dance," Garland had managed to pinpoint the sniper's location using the vapor trail left behind by the huge bullet.

"You doing alright?" he asked, not even fazed by the two attempts on his life.

"What the hell was that? Sniper?" she asked back, still bewildered at the sudden change.

"Yeah, with a huge rifle, most likely anti-materiel. I think he's reloading now," the mercenary said as he brought out a mirror-on-a-stick. Though it would be ineffective in this situation, he was curious as to…

BAM! The mirror instantly became dust the moment he stuck it out. Yep, the sniper was a decent long-rifleman, and he was waiting for them.

"Jesus, that guy wants us badly…"

"He's probably with another guy, a spotter for him. We'll have to disorient them," Garland searched through his collection of grenades. "Ah, I got a few! Odd colors though." Indeed, in his hands were three cylindrical grenades, each of them capable of spewing out a thick opaque cloud of colored smoke. These three grenades would spit out yellow, cyan, and magenta, respectively. He pulled the pins on each grenade and threw them at different distances, one close by, the second around the middle of the path, and one near the end. The last two grenades were problematic to deploy, since each time he threw them out, a bullet whizzed by in retort.

"What the hell are you gonna use them for? Cover? You don't even have a sniper rifle!"

Garland's M8 rifle suddenly appeared in her arms, "You provide sniper cover—that scope is 3.5x. I'm heading in."

"But that's crazy! You'll get blown to bits running down there, even with smoke cover!"

"I'll be fine. Besides, who would care about what happens to the heartless mercenary?" a bitter grin adorned his face as he waited for the smoke to build a bit. When the clouds of multi-colored smoke reached a reasonable thickness and size, he flipped out and tore down the path.

"Argh. Crazy merc, he's gonna get himself killed!" Maggie said to herself, but brought the rifle up and peered through the sight. Although it was not powerful enough to get a good shot, it gave her a better view of the second floor. She fired off several shots, more for suppressive fire than precise shooting.

------------------------

"Damn that mercenary! Where the hell is he?" the sniper grunted as he searched through his scope. His partner was equally confused, having abandoned his binoculars for good ol' naked eyes.

"He's coming this way, I know it! Just fire into the smoke!" the spotter said as he raised his FA-MAS for a full-auto burst. He was unable to when return fire came tearing through the air around him. Suppressive fire it may be, there was still a chance for a bullet to hit him. As a result, both Genome soldiers scrambled for cover.

Just as they recovered from the initial spray, a blur flew over the railing and landed several feet in front of them. Their looks of shock turned into looks of absolute fear as they took in the new arrival. Crouching before them, ready to spring into action, was the mercenary. A look of sadistic glee was on his face; the Genomes had very little time to react before he pounced on them. One was thrown off the second floor, landing face first into the cold concrete floor. The second man, the sniper, was subjected to a single blow. While the mercenary's back was facing him, he was slammed by a double elbow smash. So much force was in the blow that a crater was formed in the metal and rock wall. Soon to die from severe blunt trauma and a broken back, the sniper did nothing but gurgle in pain.

As the spotter lay on the ground, trying to regain his bearings, a huge weight suddenly crushed his back, squeezing all the air from his lungs and shattering several ribs. No doubt his spine was ruined as well, the Next Generation Special Forces member welcomed the darkness that accompanied the bullet piercing the back of his skill. At last, he was free…

After the smoke cleared away, Maggie met up with Garland at the staircase next to the security door. He was sitting on the third to last step, staring listlessly onto the ground. Though he was not injured, he appeared to be in shock.

"…Garland? Are you alright?" she asked.

"Guess what? I killed two more guys. One's right there," he gestured to a corpse. "The other is upstairs, embedded in the wall."

"Ah. I see."

"Shall we go, ma'am? There are still two towers to get past, and we must still infiltrate REX's chamber. We're on a time limit, aren't we?

"…Yeah… Let's go," she responded with a small voice. Although Garland hid it very well, Maggie could still see that he was holding back a calm anger.

------------------------

Haa… haa… haa… haaaah

Her breath was slowly catching up to her. Although she prided herself at her level of fitness, climbing so many stairs took a lot out of her.

"Are we there yet?" Maggie managed to gasp out as she leaned against the cold tower wall.

"Almost. There's a few more stories, then we'll be at the top," Garland responded evenly. The guy did not even look to be tired, his breaths slow and even, and his heart rate was still brachycardic (slower than average heartbeat; common in athletes).

"You're not even tired, at all?" she said with disbelief.

"I run a lot for training. My stamina's pretty high," the mercenary shrugged. "You done resting yet? We still have another tower to climb down."

"Yeah, yeah. Give me one more minute, then we'll go," Maggie sucked in several more lungfuls of air.

Several seconds past in silence, until Garland spoke up,

"Do we even have a rope to rappel or climb down on?"

"…We realize this NOW?!" the girl snarled at him.

"Considering I am not familiar with this facility, I was hoping you had planned for this."

"Well, I don't have a rope on me. I doubt you would have a coil either."

"Actually, I do," he reached into the small rucksack he had on his back, barely visible but evident. "I have a one-hundred foot coil of super-high strength fiberwire, strong enough to hold three people including myself. My suit can double for a harness, so you just need to hold on to me."

"I don't know if I should hate you or love you."

"Hate me, love me; do as you wish. After all, I'm no better than the dogs that I killed. In fact, I think I'm worse."

Garland missed her wince, since her hair blocked a portion of her face.

"…Alright. I'm ready.

When they finally reached the top, few words were exchanged as Garland set up his rappel system and began the climb down the tower wall. Maggie held onto him by wrapping her arms around the mercenary's broad shoulders and neck, hanging on tightly for fear of falling. Cold winds whipped by as they slowly descended in silence, the harsh hiss of escaping steam and water vapor from the tower's pipes was the only sound other than whistling winds.

Thirty feet above the connecting bridge however, more obstacles got in the way.

Several assault rifles clacked up in ready, taking a moment to aim before releasing several bursts of hot lead.

Bullets pinged off the pipes and wall around Garland and Maggie, sending them into a slight panic.

"Damn it! There're guys down there…!" Garland yelled out as he locked his rope into place and rotated to face the danger. "Move your legs and curl up!"

Maggie's legs suddenly wrapped themselves around Garland's waist, but he was too busy to notice. Bringing his arms and legs up while ducking his head down, his gauntlets and boots made a rather effective bullet shield, protecting a good majority of the two of them..

"Shoot back!" Thompson's muffied cry could be barely head over the pinging of bullets.

"I can't! My hands are full! Get your pistol and take them out!"

"But—"

"But nothing! You shoot or the two of us die! If you hadn't noticed, I'm your shield here!" Garland snarled as several rifle rounds bounced off the gauntlets. Although the bullets could not pierce the armor, as it was made of a rather strong material, the transfer of energy was still relatively painful. It felt like paintballs being fired at close-range, but at least it never got through. He could barely hear over the screaming winds, the gunfire, and the pinging shots, but he heard the girl hanging on to him draw her pistol and cock it. Several suppressed shots spat out, but Garland could not see their effectiveness.

"I can't hit them! They're too far away to aim right!" Maggie hissed into his ear.

"Alright, we'll do this the hard way. Disconnect the rope—we're going down. Don't argue with me! Just do it."

She did not say anything, but placed her trust in him, and detached the harness.

Thirty feet they dropped as bullets pinged off Garland's armor and the area around them. They slammed into the ground; the mercenary grunted as he landed on his feet. Normally, Garland would have rolled into the fall so as to absorb the fall, but with Maggie on his back, a roll would not be good. As a result, his legs and back took all the force of fall. Dropping back into the protective hunched position, the two soldiers were now closer two the gunfire. Through the snow swept winds and gunfire, Garland could see three soldiers, military rifles up to bear. If he was lucky, these guys would be inexperienced enough to not understand the concept of assisting fire, that is, covering your buddy while he reloads, and he does the same to you.

A lapse in the gunfire soon came, as all three of the soldiers dropped an empty clip and reached into their vests for a fresh clip.

"Now!" Garland shouted as he bolted forward, accelerating at awesome speeds to bring him (and Maggie) into close quarters combat. A fierce left hook sent one soldier over the railing, screaming as he fell. Moving with his momentum, a reverse right heel smashed the soldier in the middle onto his back. With one target left, a quick upward palm strike sent the nose bone into the brain, killing the man instantly. The second soldier was still alive, something that was swiftly remedied with a 9mm "shredder" round to the skull. And amidst all that, Maggie still held on strong.

"You can let go now. It's all on foot from here," his voice broke the trance the FOX-HOUND soldier didn't know she was in.

"Ah, yes. There's still the second tower, next is the snowfield…"

"We'll deal with things as they come. You're point, ma'am."

Maggie sighed as she got off the mercenary, once again taking lead. The mercenary had become distant, cold, detached from her. Was she being too harsh on him? Forcing her ideals on a professional soldier that has probably been doing his job much longer than she has, and with much more experience to his name, it seemed rather childish of her. Maybe she should…

A metal encased hand on her left shoulder stopped her thoughts and her movement.

"Wha…?"

"You were about to pass the elevator. Unless you want to hike down the stairs, I would suggest using the elevator," Durev's deep and dark voice sent chills down her spine. No longer did it hold the usual softness or warmth, but rather a bone-chilling indifference.

"Ah. Right," Maggie muttered as she stepped into the elevator compartment.

The ride down was in total silence, neither of the soldiers having anything significant to discuss. When they reached bottom floor, however, Maggie spoke up,

"Garland, wait a moment."

"Hmm?"

"I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't be forcing my beliefs and ideals on you. It's obvious you know what you're doing, and I shouldn't be tell you how to do things."

"What brought this on?"

"It's nothing. I just wanted to apologize…"

"Apology accepted, Maggie Thompson. I'm glad to hear that from you. Now, let us continue on," he was still rather distant from her, but his voice was much warmer compared to his previous tone.

There was more silence between them, but it was no longer of the awkward type.

------------------------

"I knew it. More snow. Great," Garland deadpanned as they stepped onto a large snowfield. The snow had worsened into a mild storm, and the falling flakes obscured visibility to around twenty feet.

"I don't like these places. Large open fields with reduced vision, it's easy to be a sniper target."

"Hmm… didn't Solid Snake have his final duel against Sniper Wolf here?"

"How did you know?"

He shrugged, "I read the book. I'm not totally lost here, just missing many details. Allow me to take point this time, since there's a danger of snipers."

"I can handle myself, thank you."

"Of course you can, but can you read the direction of a bullet and react in time to avoid it?"

Maggie did not respond, since she had experienced enough proof that Garland was more than capable of combating a long-rifleman. One thing did gain her attention. There was something here, a spirit, overwhelming with the satisfaction and content. Her necromantic powers gave her a brief vision of a memory, one that had this very snowfield as the setting. Much of it was through a black tunnel, with two intersecting lines meeting in the center. A rifle scope, no doubt, and it was centered upon a single man in dark clothes. It was the same man as Maggie saw in Psycho Mantis' dream-memory, Solid Snake.

So, Sniper Wolf's body must be nearby…

"Aaaugh!" a cry brought her out of the vision and back into the real world. Snapping her head to the direction of the outburst, the look of worry on her face immediately contorted into that of amusement and humor. A soft giggle escaped her lips as she watched the rather entertaining ambush upon a man she had believed to be nearly invincible.

A young, energetic, and cheerful wolf dog had successfully tackled Garland Durev to the ground.

"Ah ha, so the legendary Bloody Hands is defeated by a simple wolf dog once again," the girl teased as she walked away.

"Quiet you," Garland managed to grunt out as he struggled with the animal. Unlike the previous encounters with the hybrids, this particular creature had much more energy and strength. As a result he and the wolf dog rolled merrily in the snow covered fields as Maggie watched.

At least, that's what he thought she was doing. Although she was staring at them, Maggie had her mind elsewhere: finding the burial site. It was somewhere in this snowfield, she knew that much, but finding it in such a large area was much easier said than done.

…

…

…

There! The source of the emotions was strongest at the storage room to the left of that half-track. Approaching it under guise of exploration, she was dismayed to discover the security level of the door: level seven. Her card was only level six, and she was sure Garland had a level six card as well.

Damn it. At least the body was in there, so the beacon transmitter could be placed on the door. The black ops that would come later could break through with special tools.

There, another portion of her mission had been completed, and step closer to home…

A gasp escaped her lips as a burly arm wrapped itself around her neck, squeezing tightly to reduce airflow and keep her steady. A knife was pressed lightly against her neck, right up against the carotid artery. Maggie did not need to do anything to realize that she had been captured again. Where was Garland?

"Walk with me," a voice hissed into her ear, and pulled her into motion.

Garland had managed to throw off the vigorous wolf dog and got up to chase after the FOX-HOUND operative. He stopped in midstep as he discovered half a dozen rifles and shotguns pointing at him, manned by snow-covered Next Generation Special Forces commandos.

Damn it! They were hiding under the snow and waiting to ambush him! Where was Maggie? Did she get away?

The mercenary was about to blur into action with a Bolt Dash until two figures approached from his left. The white back of a soldier was approaching him slowly, and he was holding a small figure in his arms. A lock of short blonde-streaked brown hair fluttered in the wind.

Oh God. That was Maggie, and she was being held at knifepoint.

Durev bit back a curse. He could not do a single thing, lest he seriously endanger the life of his ally. The martial artist could not neutralize the seven enemy soldiers while protecting the girl at the same time, not even with his incredible combat skills. There was no choice. Garland raised his hands into the air to show compliance, sighing as he did so. Next to Maggie he could see what he believed to be an officer chatting with Maggie's capturer, discussing in tones too low for him to hear clearly.

The officer looked at the mercenary, back at the soldier, and finally one last look at the male captive. At the wave of his hand, the FOX-HOUND agent was taken away by the knife-wielder and a second shotgun-armed soldier, followed by the officer. Five men stood encircled around Garland, their weapons trained solely on the mercenary's head. The man holding Maggie was dragging her, so she could still see Garland being held captive. His eyes said goodbye for him, a final farewell as a loud rifle report echoed through the relatively empty snowfield.

Garland jerked as a sharp pain lanced through his chest, followed by a gout of blood and finally, an explosive flower as a 7.62x51mm armor piercing round tore through Garland's protective vest, ripped through his heart, and exited out the back.

He stood there for a moment, a look of shock etched upon his face as he slowly looked at the wound above his chest. His heart was shot, no doubt, and he would die very soon. His vision blurred and his body lost strength; lifeless gray-blue eyes glazed over as Garland dropped to the ground, first to his knees, then his body. Bright red blood pooled onto the snow, the warm fluid staining the white snow crimson.

Garland Durev died the moment he hit the ground.

------------------------

_No… no, it can't be! He's dead. Oh God he's DEAD!_

Maggie Thompson looked on in absolute horror as she witnessed Garland's execution, from the impact of the sniper's bullet to his final breath.

Speechless and numb from shock and terror, she allowed herself to be dragged away by her captors.

He's dead… after all he's done, he's dead. Dead, just like everyone else. Gone, never to speak to her ever again, never to gaze at her with those frighteningly beautiful gray-blue eyes, never to catch her the next time she fell.

_Good bye, Garland…_

_ I'm sorry I couldn't say…_

------------------------

The five soldiers and a sniper shared a laugh as they sauntered away from the mercenary's corpse. They had finally gotten revenge on a man who had killed their friends, and now they got first dibs on that cute girl.

"Haha! Finally, now we can relax a bit with that bastard dead!" the first one chortled.

"Hell yeah! That was a great shot too. Did you see his face when he ate it? Kodak moment!" a second one agreed.

"Now, for some ass and food!" the third soldier shouted.

As the fourth and fifth soldier laughed in agreement, the sixth man did not respond. He couldn't, not with a metal hand suddenly embedding itself into his back. The sickening crunch was heard as his spine was shattered, and caused the other fighters to whip around in surprise.

He was lifted into the air slowly, blood slowly dripping from his back. The blood suddenly erupted everywhere violent as the horrible and revolting sound of tearing flesh replaced the bone crunch. The man didn't even get a chance to scream as he was ripped in half from head to crotch, a bloody wet and violent end for such an individual. As the two halves of the former man dropped to the ground with a wet splat, the remaining soldiers looked up to see the devil himself, drenched in the blood of their former comrade.

_Let the bodies hit the floor…_

-------------------------

A/N: One down, about three more to go. I'm almost done with this, and with that, the beginning of my next line of work. What it is, you may ask? Wait for it. It may seem silly and weird because of the title, but trust me, it's got stuff everyone will like. Oh, did anyone catch the Red VS Blue tribute? If you did, you get a cookie. See you around folks.


	10. Chapter 8: Demon Unleashed

**Disclamer:** See the foreword. However, Lieutenant Matthew Reese and James Masterson belongs to RuneKnightPictures. He finally gets his cameo. Woo.

**Author's Babble: **This took way too long to get out. I'm sorry folks, but I've been really busy so far. College is evil, and is looming over the horizon. It is my wish that I at least complete this story before I leave for college. Anyways, a slightly longer chapter for everyone, with plenty of blood, death, and violence! It gets a little... supernatural, compared to the stuff I was writing before, but oh well. Read and review folks, that's all I want.

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands **

Written by Tempest Dynasty

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**Chapter 8: Demon Unleashed**

_Let the bodies hit the floor…_

Shock, horror, revulsion, disgust. These and more emotions ran through the minds of the five remaining soldiers as they stared at the remains of their comrade. He had been ripped into two vertically, from head to crotch. The culprit was a dead man, but he stood there before them. The blood of their comrade covered the man they thought they had killed. Blood still oozed from the wound in his chest, but it was quickly slowing down; it was as if his heart had repaired itself

_Let the bodies hit the floor…_

The man that stood before them was like a reincarnated monster out for revenge. He no longer stood straight with the minimalist nature of a martial artist, nor did he have that cautious stance that allowed him to react to anything. Rather, he stood slightly slouched forward, his arms dangled loosely. His hands were twisted into claws, and his hair shadowed his eyes. The Berserker…

_Let the bodies hit the floor…_

"Wha… what are you?!" one of the NGSF soldiers screamed at him. His response was to chuckle softly, growing into a throaty cackle, and finally, into full-blown demonic laughter.

"Heh heh heh heh ha ha ha ha HAAA HA HA HA HA HA!" he laughed as he threw his head back. When he brought his head back down to face them, his gaze made everyone's blood run cold. Gone were the usual gray-blue eyes, replaced by the bloodiest crimson red. A warped grin adorned the face, a look that expressed the excitement and glee for the coming chaos. Sadistic and vicious described the man's aura perfectly; the Genome soldiers could feel it emanating from his person. Fear ran through their veins, as if it were natural and instinctive to fear this.

Instinct was right.

"Let the bodies it the…" a quiet murmur was barely heard over the howling winds. "FLLOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRR!!!" the murmur transformed into a scream as he suddenly blurred into action.

A rifleman did not have a chance to blink when his chest suddenly imploded, the length of the mercenary's arm plunged deeply into him. Moments later his back exploded in a frightening eruption of blood and gore. A lung, spinal column, even parts of the soldier's esophagus was visible as the claw-like hand ripped itself out. Before the man had a chance to fall to the ground, the resurrected soldier was on another.

A light uppercut launched the hapless man several feet into the air, only to be brought back down with a ridiculously strong heel drop. As the attack impacted into his stomach, his entire body caved into the blow. In the air he looked like a giant V, and as such, was driven into the ground in that V shape.

Fear had finally taken root in the psyche of one of the remaining NGSF soldiers, and gave him the ability to run away in panic. The berserker did not give him that luxury, however. With a single bound, he was on top of the runaway, his hands wrapping tightly around the enemy's head. A simple jerk removed the head easily, releasing a torrent of blood to spray forth. As he turned to face the last two Genomes, the demon threw the decapitated body away and chucked the head to one of the soldiers. By the time the man was able to catch it, his buddy had met his end with a furious overhead smash. So powerful was the blow that the man was did not simply crumple like a sack of potatoes, he was crushed as if a great weight had suddenly dropped on him.

The remaining soldier dropped the head, babbling in distress and horror. As quick as it had started, it ended with everyone but him dead; they did not just die, they were utterly _destroyed_. He kept stuttering as he was picked up by the head and lifted a foot into the air, his eyes glazed over with fear. That frightful look was decimated as a fist impacted mightily upon his nose, with such great force the skull was crushed like a rotten melon.

Not even pausing to check his location, the resurrected berserker mercenary stalked to the door that would lead him to more… victims.

Let them see why they call him "Bloody Hands."

------------------------

Lance Corporal Barret Wesal rued the day he volunteered for the "experimental next-generation soldier" program for Special Forces. At first, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to move up in life. The tests and gene therapy would have made him a super soldier, and he would be part of the best soldiers the world has ever seen. Instead, he's assigned to some stupid deserted island off Alaska, abandoned by his superiors, forsaken by Washington, and left to survive on his own with the rest of the Next Generation Special Forces. He was lucky the day Solid Snake decided to infiltrate the facility—he was asleep at the residential hall. But his luck quickly ran out as he was assigned near permanent stationing in the friggin' blast furnace while wearing full combat uniform.

It was hotter than hell, his uniform was soaked in sweat, and he was thirstier than an Eskimo in the Sahara.

What was with that girl they were dragging away earlier? They had at least four other men escorting her, all ready to blow her away the moment she did something wrong. Shit, people were getting paranoid…

And why did they assign him this place anyways? Wasn't it better to…

His thoughts were interrupted when the security door leading outside suddenly dented outward, as if a great force had smashed into it. Another hit blew the door clear off its frame, sending the bent metal flying into a pool of molten steel. And from the door stepped out a man he suddenly felt great fear from. Immediately his legs began to tremble, even more so as the man's horrid face turned to face him. An eyeblink later, he was inches away from him.

Stifling a scream of fear, he threw a fist forward in an attempt to ward off the demon. His fist was caught, his arm snapped in half by a quick palm strike, and a strong backfist blow sent the Lance Corporal flying. The demon still had his grip on his arm, however; with the sickening _splorsch_ of ripping flesh and tearing tendons, his arm was ripped off from the shoulder. The soldier screamed as he plummeted over the railing and took a dive into 2750 degree Fahrenheit molten iron, his body quickly engulfed by the glowing red and yellow liquid.

With an effortless leap, the berserker cleared the ten-foot gap between the two platforms, pounced upon a man that came to investigate the screaming (he was struck with such a powerful uppercut his head and spinal cord was ripped out from his body), and continued his bloody hunt.

The next room was nothing more than a freight elevator heading deep underground, shadows consuming the tunnel dozens of feet down.

Down there. They are down there.

Unfortunately for the mercenary, the elevator was missing.

Must get to them…

He jumped. For a few moments he seemed to float there, his arms spread out like wings. Like a winged demon he disappeared into the darkness, eyes blazing red.

------------------------

"He'll come through here, I know it!"

"That's what Zundel said and you see him now? No! He's dead!"

A large group of soldiers had turned the cold box-filled warehouse into a makeshift bunker. Claymores were set up around the area, even blocks of plastic explosives had been placed down. Every man had a rifle, several grenades, and a sidearm. They seemed ready to take

"Shut up! There were only two of them then, but look at us here. Twenty men, in heavy body armor, with shotguns, rifles, and even some heavy ordnance!" a wild gleam seemed to shine in the soldier's eyes.

"Calm down, Blakslee. We need to be calm and prepared for this guy," a third soldier interrupted. "He's proven to be an incredible threat, despite being only one man. Already over sixty men have fallen to this mercenary, and we must avenge their deaths."

"Sir! We've lost contact with the blast furnace guard! He should be on the elevator now, riding down," a radioman near them piped up, readying his M4 rifle.

"But the elevator is down here, so it will be a while for the thing to go up then back down."

"We'll wait then. Settling down, boys, but be ready to go in an instant."

One of the younger men, Corporal Billy Hernandez approached the commander, "Sir? How did he survive that shot? It was a confirmed kill by those guys that came through earlier, but even now we're losing contact with more men."

"…" he was silent for a moment, contemplating his response. "I think… He is one of the legendary."

"Sir?"

"I was in the Army for a long time, kiddo. With the 101st Airborne I heard many stories about legendary mercenaries. There are two types: teams and individuals. Obviously, teams are groups of three or more mercs working together. They are often hired for large-scale missions that require more than one man, and are paid higher sums than solos. Some of the most famous groups I've heard about are the Shinsengumi, Black Wind, and the Wraiths."

"What about the individuals?"

"I'm getting to it. Individual mercenaries are usually hired for smaller missions, and are given smaller sums of cash for jobs, but they are potentially more dangerous than mercenary teams. The most famous mercenary would be the man that came through here a year ago…"

"Solid Snake."

"Yes. But there are a number of other legends that are almost as famous, or as infamous, as Solid Snake. For example, FOX-HOUND had many other unique soldiers running around before Liquid Snake came around. There's also Testament, a woman of extraordinary speed and stealth. Whereas Snake could sneak around by hiding, diversions, and being silent, Testament could literally stand in front of you and you would not see her. She could walk beside you for miles and you would never notice her. You would die and never know that you did. There's also Ryoji. He's not a mercenary, so to speak, but he's pretty damn good as a spy. Intelligence and information is his forte, and he's sort of a playboy. Fortunately for many intelligence groups, Ryoji has a near permanent station in Germany, working for NERV."

"Scary."

"Nah, they're not scary. I'll tell you the scariest. You ever heard of Berserkers?"

"In video games and in stories," the young man admitted. "I was sort of a Dungeons and Dragons player in high school."

"They're real, kiddo. And there's one man that stands above the rest in scare factor, brutality, and kill count. In nearly every mission he's been on, very few survivors are found. I'm sure there were several spy missions he had to perform without a fatality, but that doesn't matter now. There are many stories about the Berserker, some are merely exaggerations, and some are actually true. The problem is that no one knows which is which; all the stories seem true. Platoon strength forces, with armor, air support, and even artillery, completely decimated by a single man. Tanks ruined and bent out of shape. Entire squads of soldiers literally ripped to shreds. Of a one-hundred-man group of professional career soldiers, battle-hardened veterans, only four survived. They lived because they did the smart thing when they saw the Berserker, they dropped their guns, turned around, and ran like hell. Everyone else? It was pretty difficult to identify all the bodies, even with dogtags."

"What do they call this 'Berserker'?"

"They call him Bloody Hands."

Suddenly, the southern metal doors moaned in pain, as if something was trying to rip it apart. Electronic motors used to open, close, and lock the doors hissed and sparked, the result of excessive pressure being placed on the gears.

"Shit! How did he get down so fast?! To your stations!" the leader screamed. Immediately everyone scrambled to ready their weapons. Dozens of rifles and shotguns aimed at the door, as well as light machine-guns and even several rocket launchers. They did not want to take any chances.

With a final scream, alloyed steel was torn asunder by a mighty force, and the doors were forcibly twisted into jagged pieces. Immediately every firearm in the room unleashed hell, a torrent of hot jacketed lead tore through the air; a literal wall of fire and metal.

"Cease fire! Cease fire damn it!" a faint cry was barely heard over the constant shooting. As more cries of "cease fire!" reduced the number of bullets in the air, they brought themselves out of cover to see their target. Other than a thoroughly ventilated block of wood, there was nothing there. For emphasis, gentle breeze blew through the door.

"What the hell? Where is he?" the soldiers looked around, confused at the absence of their target.

"Private Dataro, recon the area."

"But—"

"Do it!"

With a sigh, the hapless soldier got up from his protective sand (and ice) bag and slowly made his way to the door. After looking around with a gun-mounted flashlight, he turned around the report to his superiors.

"There's nothing he—" the man suddenly became a literal pancake. Unlike the surface of the snowfield, the ground was made of reinforced concrete and steel, thus it did not give away like cold soil. Behind the bloody pile was a man, their enemy, the mercenary.

"Jesus Christ! Fire! Fire damn it!!!" However before anyone had the chance to bring up their rifles, he was on them. Pouncing upon one man, he never got a chance to scream when his head was smashed off his shoulders. The berserker brought his foot up, bringing it down on another soldier to completely pulverize his right shoulder and arm. Using the crippled guy as a stepping stone, the red-eyed demon leapt off and dove at another victim. He wrapped his hands around the shocked Genome soldier's face, but rather than ripping it off right there and then, he soared over the still dazed man. As he landed, the momentum of his flight and subsequent landing gave the mercenary enough force to lift his victim up and over his head, the "Guillotine Throw" technique, and threw him into another soldier.

Impacting hard against the frozen walls, and not even a moment to cry out before they were skewered through the chest by a powerful punch, the two unfortunate soldiers died with one shot. As Garland pulled his bloody arm out of the two corpses, the bodies fell to reveal a severely cracked concrete wall.

"Kill him!" the cry brought up multiple weapons to bear at the blood covered martial artist. When the guns began to spit fire, he blurred. So fast was his movements that he was practically running on the walls.

The Lance Corporal blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. Good God, he IS running on the wall!

Quite true, the mercenary ran across a portion of the wall to avoid a burst of machine-gun fire. As he landed, his foot lashed out in a fearsome kick that shattered the skull of one of the soldiers. Blood, gray matter, and bone splattered across the boxes and icy floor as Garland landed with martial grace. Upon landing he brought his gauntlets up to guard, protecting his face from the incoming rifle fire. As bullets pinged off the impenetrable metal, more rounds were impacting into his body and limbs. Hot pain lanced through his entire being, but it was ignored through the bloodlust. With a mighty roar of anger and defiance, the mercenary reached over and gripped one of the large storage boxes. Weighing well over a ton, the box at first shifted slightly from his strength, but soon it was lifted into the air and thrown with incredible power.

Soldiers scrambled to get out of the way of the incoming metal crate, but several were too slow to respond. A resounding clang singled its landing on the concrete floor, under it were several men crushed by the weight. The icy floor gave little friction to stop it, so it kept skidding forward, leaving a gooey bloody trail. Screams echoed from behind the box as it slammed into the wall with a wet squish and a splash of blood. Not even stopping for a breather, "Bloody Hands" stooped low and ripped a heavy machine-gun from its tripod, only to twist his body and hurl it like a warhammer into a running soldier. It caught him in the back, with so much force that his back caved into the blow. A sickening crack told everyone his spine had shattered.

With his back to the door, shaking with fear and panic, Cpl. Hernandez looked on with shock and horror. More and more men fell to the unstoppable Berserker rage. Nothing seemed to even faze the demon, not even explosives. Close range C4 blasts did little other than push him back slightly. Claymores detonated like giant shotguns, but the anti-personnel mines merely slowed the monster for a moment. When several men shouldered Stingers and Nikitas and fired them, he merely swatted them out of the air before the missiles had a chance to explode. Even worse, he even caught them in midair and threw the missiles to the side, exploding harmlessly away from him, or harmfully into another unlucky Genome. Reflexes and movement so fast, there wasn't even a blur. A blink and the demon would be across the room, wreaking havoc on another fighter. Blood, the precious life fluid of his friends, his brothers, spilt all over the room; on the walls, on the floors, slowly freezing into icicles, it was everywhere. Limbs and body organs littered the ground, their owners screaming and moaning in pain. Every death seemed to be in slow motion, his fist impacting with a soldier's face, and the slow, agonizingly disgusting collapse implosion, and burst as the head exploded in a spray of brain matter, bone, skin, and blood. And amidst the bodies, his hands soaked crimson, stood hunched a man so terrifying, so ruthless, his name was known to nearly every major (and several minor) military units in the world. He let out a rage-filled howl that chilled the NGSF soldier to the soul.

"Oh God… Bloody Hands…" he whispered, so low and so quiet, yet the mercenary turned as if he heard it.

_He saw me. Oh God in Heaven the monster saw me! Run… run… Must run! RUN AWAY!!!_ His mind was screaming at him

But he didn't listen to his mind. Instead, he ran forward with only his fists and his wits, fear and panic mixed with anger overriding his better judgment.

_I have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, I'll be fine…_The young man reassured himself, despite the fact that the mercenary had _slaughtered_ EVERYONE ELSE, as he leapt into a flying jump kick, aiming for the enemy's head.

His assured mood however, was completely obliterated when his outstretched foot was caught before it could impact. Even worse, the corporal was unable to counter as he was suddenly flung around like a ragdoll, slammed repeatedly into the ground, metal boxes, and walls. Although he was dead by the second smash into a box, the Berserker continued to fling the body around. Finally dropping the crushed and pounded corpse, the red-eyed tyrant stalked to the next door, once again forcibly ripping the door open with his incredible strength.

_Let the bodies it the floor…_

_Heh heh heh ha ha ha ha HAA HA HA HA HA!_ Demonic laughter echoed in the lifeless halls, and in his own mind.

------------------------

Captain Dennis Hancock was worried.

Rightfully so, he had just received a report that the cold storage room bunker had been completely and utterly decimated. Twenty of his best soldiers, NCOs (Non-Commissioned Officers), and officers were killed in the time span of five minutes. Not a scratch was done against the beast of a man that did it, either.

And he was coming this way.

Between the cold storage room and Metal Gear REX's containment bay, it was a very short less-than-a-minute walk. Which meant he was below them at the moment.

The captain, along with the remaining thirty-odd Next Generation Special Forces Genome soldiers and a single hostage, were camped out in the testing room directly above REX's holding pen. Nearby was the blackened wreckage of Metal Gear REX, turned into a crude shelter. This was their final encampment before hitting the surface and moving on to the residential halls. No one approached the residential halls since every time they approached, a collection of people died from sniper fire. Whoever the sniper was, he was damn good.

But that was not the problem at the moment. Instead, it was the fact that a highly skilled and extremely dangerous mercenary had infiltrated the facility, exterminated quite a number of the Genome soldiers, and now currently on an unstoppable berserker rampage that left the cold storage room/bunker in utter decimation. And he was coming this way.

Bah. Lousy day.

At least he had thirty of the best men the NGSF forces could muster, a few pieces of heavy fire support, and a good hostage that could turn the tides. The preparations had barely finished when a protective floor grating exploded from its hinges. Following the flying scrap metal was a gray, black, and blue shape that seemed to blur in the cold air. Only then, after it had landed and faced the soldiers did the captain know that this was his objective.

"All units, open fire! Neutralize the target!" he barked his commands, waving his free arm at the mercenary before shouldering his own weapon.

Fifteen assault rifles, five FIM-92A Stingers, a .50 caliber Browning M2HB heavy machine-gun, six M240 light machine-guns, and a fully operational M1A2 Abrams tank thundered in the spacious room.

Heedless of the lethal barrage, the mercenary dashed forward. With only his arms up for protection, he defended his head from bullets, ignoring the wounds and injuries caused to the rest of his body. Similar to the bunker incident, the Stingers were simply deflected out of the air or even redirected back to their firers; fortunately for the soldiers, they exploded harmlessly a distance from them.

With a mighty belch the Abrams tank spat out a powerful HEAT (High Explosive Anti-Tank) round, aimed at the ground in order to explode and effectively fling deadly shrapnel. As the tank round impacted and detonated, the mercenary jumped high and flipped over the flak. He landed gracefully, and continued his dash.

Not one to be bested, the tank simply reloaded and fired again, this time sending over an APFSDS-T (Armor Piercing, Fin-Stabilized Discarding Sabot, Tracer) bullet. The tungsten "spear" rocketed forward in a white-yellow fireball, the anti-tank round aimed right at Garland's chest.

For a seasoned, well-trained and experienced soldier, his reflexes and danger sense develop beyond what the body can perform. As a result, his mind slows down his real-time perception into a speed in which his body seems to react as fast as his mind. This holds true for the mercenary Garland Durev, in many cases proving this with feats of reflex that would seem impossible to a normal man. While in the Berserker rage, this reaction time is multiplied by a huge degree, giving him a huge window of opportunity to act and react. Leaping into the air and twisting his body, he curled around the giant metal spike and avoided the hit. The intense vacuum created by the huge bullet, a gust of air that would normally rip flesh apart from sheer pull, did little but pull on the man's combat suit.

He landed on all fours, and immediately sprinted once again towards his prey. By this time he had crossed a good portion of the room, and with a final leap, was among the soldiers.

Immediately screams and cries for help erupted from his impact point as bodies and blood began to spread across the area. Half a man flew over the tank; only to have his second half, along with the pulped flesh of what was once a person, follow. Rifles were crushed like foil, along with the bones and flesh of those whom wielded them. Blood washed the ground like water, flowing gently over the corpses, limbs, organs, and shattered bones. As the tank swiveled the turret to aim its 120mm smoothbore cannon, it was greeted with a glowing red fist. A brightly sparking red hue was enveloping Garland's right hand, rapidly increasing in brightness and pulse.

With a primal roar, he threw the red ball of energy at the tank much like a baseball pitcher, the pulse traveling down the turret and into the armored vehicle itself. A muffled explosion was barely heard over the chaos, but the tank fell silent, its crew dead. But there were still more… victims…

"MERC! STAND DOWN!" Garland turned to face the voice.

The captain, along with three riflemen and a light machine-gunner, stood over a kneeling Maggie Thompson.. The riflemen and machine-gunner had their guns trained on Garland's head, while the commander stood over his hostage. Maggie sat on her knees, facing sideways from the out-of-control mercenary, her hands bound tightly against her back and her eyes covered by a blindfold. Pressed firmly against the back of her head was a Heckler & Koch Mk. 23 SOCOM pistol, more than enough to effectively silence a target for good

"Surrender, and she'll be spared. If not," the man kicked her in the chest, sending the FOX-HOUND commando sprawling onto her back. He dropped to a knee and shoved his pistol into her face. "If not, she will die, as well as you."

"Heh heh heh… I've killed nearly everyone in this facility. What makes you think you can kill me?" for the first time, the berserker spoke in a grinding dark voice. Malice and rage laced into his words, promising death with each syllable.

He took a step forward.

Captain Hancock brought his pistol to bear, and shot Maggie in both thighs. This elicited a cry of surprise and pain, her body writhing in agony. While the shots were merely flesh wounds, they still hurt a lot.

"Call my bluff, I dare you," the captain mocked.

------------------------

_He hurt her. He shot her. The bastard hurt her. She's crying. He made her cry._

_Hehurther_heshother_heshother_shescrying_hislifeisforfeit_hislifeisworthless_makehimpay_makehimpay_makehimpay_makehimpay

Make him pay.

_Blood! His blood must be spilled!_

No longer worthy of living.

_ Destroy the infidel!_

Two voices, one of dark malevolent rage, the other a calm, human, yet with equal levels of anguish, rang out as one.__

**Yes. He will pay with his life.**

From his slight forward slouch and dangling arms, he slowly straightened. Now standing tall and defiant, his eyes no longer held the crazed wild look. Rather, his crimson eyes held a clarity, fierceness, and pure highly focused rage that burned through the surviving soldiers like twin lasers.

"I fear not man, for they are a pathetic lot." His aura and power seemed to strengthen tenfold.

"I fear not pain, for the suffering will soon end." Black flame-like shapes formed in his claw-like hands.

"I fear not death, for I _am_ Death." Behold, the Destroyer of Worlds.

Instantly the squad machine-gunner exploded in a blooming flower of blood, guts, and bone. From under his feet a burst of black energy had ripped through his body and detonated in his belly. Before anyone could react, the True Dread was among them. Wielding a shadowy zweihander he sliced through two riflemen like a hot knife cutting butter, impaling the third with a spear he formed out of the same black flame. Without even touching the hostile captain, Garland sent enough force to give him a brief and painful flight through the air, a burst of dark fire trailing behind.

With a painful thump, he landed on his back thirteen feet away, his chest still smoking from the powerful blow. As the captain tried to get regain his bearings, he looked up to see that the mercenary had already closed the gap between them in a blink of an eye. He was easily lifted into the air to about eye level with the demon, those blood red eyes burning into his very soul. The brave and confident soldier part of him immediately died, fear and terror overwhelming him in massive waves. His will to fight shattered, his very existence balanced on the Berserker's fist.

Unfortunately for the captain, his judgment had already passed, his verdict: guilty, by all accounts.

His sentence…

"Death Adder," Garland whispered, letting the man go for a moment.

Dark energy focused into the mercenary's hands, practically sucking the light from the surroundings. His left fist shot out, encased in black fire, slamming into the shocked soldier's shoulder. By brute force alone, the shoulder and arm ripped out from its socket. His right fist followed, with equal levels of force that tore the other arm clean off. A left open hand backfist chained in, a blow that shattered the skull yet was non-lethal to an extent. His ribcage and sternum was crushed into pieces by a powerful right hook, the blow sending shockwaves throughout the entire body. Finally, both hands drew back and thrust forward in a mighty double open palm strike, an explosion of black energy surging outward as it impacted.

In a burst of light absorbing darkness, Captain Dennis Hancock's body literally evaporated into nothingness, not even leaving dust or remnants that he existed.

And so, with that final death, the entire main facility had been cleaned out. Mission accomplished.

One objective down, two more left.

Wordlessly, Garland stepped to where Maggie lay, the girl was still writhing around in pain. Blood poured out from the twin wounds in her thighs in a smooth trickle. It wasn't immediately lethal or dangerous, but the bleeding would not stop if left untreated. He kneeled down next to her, gently removing the blindfold.

"You don't look so good. Those bullet wounds getting to you?" he spoke softly, a tone that was much softer than before.

Her eyes refocused in the light, slightly red from held-back tears. Breathing heavily from pain, she turned to glare at the mercenary. Fortunately, her vision was still blurry as she gazed at him, hiding the fact that Garland's eyes were an unholy red.

"They hurt just a bit, you know? Damn it, Aagh!" she winced.

"First time you've been shot?" seeing her nod quickly, he reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a syringe, a large roll of gauze, a few gel bandages, a large pair of tweezers, and a small squirt bottle of water. "Relax, I'll patch you up. You'll be good as new in a few weeks."

First, with the slash of his knife, he removed portions of the girl's BDU pants to give better access to the wounds. With the stab of the syringe, a good dose of morphine was introduced to her system, and quickly killed the pain. With careful precision and delicacy, Garland searched for and removed the two .45 slugs with the tweezers. A quick wash of the blood cleaned the area, and the bandages were placed upon the wounds. Finally, gauze was wrapped around the bandages to hold them in place and to give protection.

"Alright, I'll carry you from here on. That morphine will knock you out pretty soon, and I don't want you collapsing on me," he picked her up, and after a bit of shifting of weight, Garland managed to set the girl in a piggyback position, comfortably carrying her. His rifle was slung in front of him, ready to be whipped up for use at any time. Exiting out of the room via parking garage, he pleased to find that several jeeps were still left behind, but none of them had keys. This was no problem, since the martial artist could easily hotwire a vehicle. A quick fiddling with wires, and soon they had a moving jeep with a decent tank of gas.

------------------------

A few minutes later, a few long-distance shots to neutralize straggler guards, and a second dose of morphine, the two soldiers had finally reached the snow-covered land of Shadow Moses Island. Fresh snow had fallen, and the sun had begun to rise in the distance, oddly similar to that when Solid Snake and Meryl Silverberg came through. Unfortunately for the recent duo, there was no snowmobile available to "borrow." Fortunately, the jeep was still available, but it lacked the traction and stability a snowmobile would have in snow. No matter.

Garland stopped the jeep at the mouth of the tunnel, a moment to rest after a certain episode. His eyes had returned to their normal gray-blue hue, the bullet wounds had healed over, thanks to the rapid regeneration-healing rate of the berserker; the body had probably pushed out the bullets already. Leaning back into the lightly cushioned seat, he pulled out his PDA (Personal Digital Assistant, a Palm Pilot) and pulled up the area map. Where else could he go, now that his mission was more or less complete? With a sigh, he examined an extended map of the island.

Meanwhile, in the sleepy haze caused by two doses of morphine, Maggie Thompson had accessed her Codec to call back. After two rings, the deplorable face of her commander popped up, still looking as if he sat on a rusty nail.

"What is it now, Thompson? You're pulling me from an important matter!" he seemed to spit at her.

"Sir, I've managed to locate and isolate two of them. The rest are far too gone. My mission is complete," Maggie mumbled sleepily.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you mumbling?"

"I'm sorry, sir. It's the morphine. I got hit and patched myself up."

"Weakling. You're FOX-HOUND, you don't need morphine to deal with wounds."

Ignoring the comment, Maggie continued, "Sir, requesting pick up from Shadow Moses,"

"Very well, Thompson, there will be an Osprey coming to get you at the roof of the northern residence hall in three hours."

"Sir? Where's this residence hall?"

"You'd better find it in three hours, Thompson," with that, he signed off.

Sighing heavily at the frustratingly annoying man, she readjusted herself in her seat.

"You doing okay, Maggie?" Garland spoke from next to her.

"Yeah… I'm getting a pick up at the roof of the northern residence hall. Any idea where that is?" it was getting harder to stay awake.

"It's a long drive from here. You go ahead and sleep; I'll drive."

"Right… Thanks Garland."

"Sleep well."

Falling asleep never felt so good before. Oddly enough, she felt quite safe despite the carnage she had heard twenty minutes ago.

------------------------

In reality, it really wasn't that large of a distance between the residence building and the main facility. It was the amount of snow and ice that slowed Garland down to a point that it took nearly two hours to get there. However, with an hour to spare, Garland managed to park the jeep and carry Maggie into the building. There was one snag nowever…

Passing by one of the officer's rooms, the mercenary's heightened hearing heard a soft snore. It was not Maggie's, he had been listening to her for a while, and it definitely did not sound like her. After placing the girl down gently, he readied his pistol, and snuck into the room. He stopped at a wall and corner, beyond would be the snoring person. Taking a deep breath, Garland dove out and rolled into the room, bring his pistol up to bear on the occupant of the room. He was stunned at the sight.

On the bed was a male child, no older than seven years. His hair was wild and face dirtied with smudges of grease, oil, and dirt. In his arms clutched protectively was a PSG1 sniper's rifle. From the ammunition strewn around the room, Garland guessed that the boy had been using the rifle extensively. Unfortunately, there was very little left in terms of bullets. The boy had a dogtags, amazingly enough:

Private James Masterson… only seven years old… The mercenary sighed—here was another target, one he had to kill, but it was a child. From the looks of it, the boy was exhausted, hungry, and afraid, but Garland could not take the chance of waking him, nor could he just take the boy and run. He sighed again, reached into a pouch on his belt, and fished out his remaining rations and leftover 7.62x51mm ammunition from his old G3 rifle. Placing it gently on the bedside table, he quietly tiptoed out of the room, and closed the door behind him. Once again picking up Maggie, he continued on for the roof.

An hour later, a deep buzzing sound brought Garland out of his nap. Glancing into the sky, he saw a black V-22 Osprey coming closer and closer. No doubt this was either the Black Ops that was going to move in after him, or Maggie's ride. The latter idea was confirmed, as the hybrid chopper-plane came to slow down and hover over he and his ally. As the aircraft landed, its rear door dropped open, and out came six heavily armed FOX-HOUND grunts.

Unlike Maggie, who was a Special Operative, these men were basic soldiers that passed FOX-HOUND's recruitment requirements, and were often deployed with Special Operatives as back-up, support, or escort.

Garland got up, still carrying Maggie. As he approached the waiting Osprey, one of the grunts confronted him.

"Halt! Who are you and why are you carrying the operative?" the man asked, his rifle as well as the five others bearing down on him.

"I'm a mercenary, and she's just knocked out from morphine doses. If you don't mind, I'd like to at least put her in the Osprey.

"Corporal Allan, it's ok," Maggie mumbled out from her drowsy state. "He's with me. Give him a ride back to the States, please? Just don't tell Reese about this, the old bastard."

For a moment the corporal said nothing, thinking about what to do. Finally, he looked Garland in the eye and said,

"Alright, merc. We'll give you a ride to mainland Alaska. From there, you're on your own."

"Hey, man, thanks. I'll be able to take care of myself once I hit Alaska. You think you can drop me off near a city?"

"I'll see what we can do."

Garland and Maggie, along with the six grunts, boarded the aircraft. Seconds later, they were airborne.

------------------------

Hours later, as the Osprey flew over Skagway, Alaska, Garland was approached by the same soldier.

"We're over an Alaskan city now. This is where you get off, merc."

"What, you want me to jump out? What about a parachute?"

"Too suspicious."

"And a man flying out of a plane isn't?"

"Look, they're gonna wonder why we're missing a parachute. Picking you up is already a major offense, and Lieutenant Reese isn't exactly the nicest commander."

"I understand. You think you could at least give me a drop line?"

"I guess so."

Minutes later, as Garland stood at the mouth of the ramp, drop line in his hands, he turned to look at the sleeping Maggie on last time, before facing the soldier again.

"Allan, right?" Seeing him nod, he continued. "Tell her I said goodbye, and that it was nice meeting her."

"I will."

The mercenary saluted, and jumped out.

------------------------

A/N: And I'm done! Two more chapters, and this story will be complete in its entirety. Next two chapters, cameos galore! Stay with me folks. I'll see you all later.


	11. Chapter 9: Furlough

**Disclaimer: **See the Foreword. Additionally, KOF are owned by SNK. Ranma ½ and all its affiliates are owned by Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Video. Michael Hansen belongs to Grey Wolf4.

**Author's Babble:** I seriously need to stop taking so much time in getting stuff out. Sorry guys, I have no excuse. As a result of this extended period of time, this chapter is the longest I have written yet. There will be one more chapter after this, so the end is coming soon. Not much action this chapter, folks. Sorry. Well, go ahead, read, and review.

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

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**Chapter 9: Furlough**

            December 1st, 2006, three months after Shadow Moses…

            Garland Durev leaned back into his lounge chair and sighed. Ever since he returned from Shadow Moses, everything had been really slow. Not one job offer popped up, not one contact called in, but at least his bank account was still filled. Despite the large amounts of cash he brought in, he would rarely use it on himself. The martial artist side of him favored minimalism, thus his Spartan-like home, and low monthly bills. Instead, the money was kept in a bank account slowly accumulating interest. For mercenary, he was good as fired from his job, since no one wanted to utilize his skills. Everything had been going down hill for him, ever since that damned reporter and her "journalistic duty to reveal to the public." It was all bad luck and coincidence; Garland was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The report had riled up many other mercenaries, exposing several of them, and causing many more to lose their contacts. Fortunately, none blamed Garland for the article, and instead turned their anger against that one stubborn, obnoxious, and thoroughly annoying reporter.

            She was fired from her job a while ago. After all, no one had any use for a blind, mute, and deaf (the deaf part was slightly difficult, but several days constantly listening to a machinegun go off next to your head fixed it pretty well) individual that was paralyzed from the waist down. Many people (and mercenaries) soon learned NOT to piss off Pablo "Peacemaker" Morales.

            It was pretty hell-like to get back home from Alaska too. Not only did he look suspicious with his combat suit, but also he had left all his travel things back at his hotel, like his passport. Garland grimaced as he remembered the not-so-smooth trek home.

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            After zip-lining down the Osprey, he hit the ground with a wet thump. Recent heavy rains had saturated the soil with muddy water, and made landing rather messy. The extreme steepness of the slope did not help in sitting still either. He rolled down the mud-slick, rock-filled, tree-laden slope for nearly a hundred yards, finally stopping by crashing bodily into a large tree.

            "Ghaah!" he gasped, the air in his lungs knocked out. For several moments he sat there, catching his breath and resting from his fall. Fresh wounds from sharp rocks dotted his face and neck, oozing blood slowly. After a while he stood and took in his surroundings: lush forests, thick with vegetation and life, blue skies with small puffs of clouds dotting it, and tall mountains with scraps of snow and ice in certain spots. A small road lined the side of the mountain, a simple double-lane paved road that seemed to have had little use. Down below in the valley, a narrow but violent river surged with milky gray-green water.

            "Skagway River…" he muttered, looking over the valley. Most likely he was along a route for tourists, and that road would be used for bus or van-based tours. Wonderful, a risk in being sighted by the locals AND tourists… Well… this may be beneficial. He still had a small rucksack with extensions that could unfold into something akin to a hiking backpack. If he could just hail a tour group down, he could pose as a hiker, feign exhaustion, and hitch a ride back. His rifle and handgun could be stuffed into the rucksack, as well as his gauntlets. After getting into town… Bah. He would figure it out as he went along.

            Throwing everything suspicious into the sack and sealing it tightly, he set out on the road, heading down the path that he hoped was to town.

            A few hours later, he hit the Canadian/Alaskan borders, thus he realized that it was the wrong way, and immediately turned around. Unfortunately for Garland, a nearby sign said that Skagway was approximately 22 miles away, over steep mountains, difficult climbs, and the occasional mountain goat. Sighing in exasperation and his bad luck, he placed one foot in front of the other, and hiked.

            Not one vehicle appeared.

            When he finally reached the town, he was suddenly reminded that the most common way of traversing between Alaskan territories was by boat or seaplane. There were no seaplanes around, and Garland lacked the knowledge to be a decent sailor. The only way to move was either to hike (Hell no.) or hitch a ride on a boat. Since majority of the boats were privately owned, he would have to wait for some sort of opportunity, like a cruise ship or something…

            Ha! Just when he thought his luck was down, a cruise ship was already docked, and according to a nearby sign, it would be disembarking in several hours. This would be the perfect ride, if he could only get onboard. It had certain levels of security, so simply walking in would not work. The gangplank was made of metal, but rather noisy. Climbing up would be difficult, as well as highly visible and stupid. So would be stealing a uniform, since the mercenary looked much different from majority of the crew, and no card would come near to matching him. What to do… what to do…

            Heh. Looks like a James Bond maneuver is going to be needed.

            Not fancy gadgets, not overly flashy gunfights, not a big kung-fu battle in which the hero miraculously wins, but good old-fashioned sneaking.

            A quick fidget with a lock, a bit of rearranging, and soon he was hiding away in a food restock box, snacking on the smoked salmon stored within. After much snacking, much relaxing, and a light jab to knock a guard out, Garland was walking around the cruise ship like any other passenger.

            He still had his wallet, with several bills in case of emergencies. Seeing that this was such an emergency, Garland was quick to spend the $100 in clothing. After all, it would be rather shady to be walking around with a bullet-ridden combat suit, metal reinforced gloves, and web gear. Napping by day, walking around by night, Garland seemed to be the average night owl/vampire, yet completely normal on the ship. Although the thought of relaxing and taking advantage of the ship's services was _very_ tempting, he had to resist and return home. The buffet breakfast, lunch, and dinner, however, was free game.

            But on the third day after his "infiltration," of all the things that could have happened, of all the possible events that could have occurred, and of all the people that could have been on the ship, a large group of terrorists posing as tourists suddenly rushed the theater hall to take over the entire damn ship with one go, take every man, woman, and child hostage, and demand stupid things. The ship was rerouted to some God-forsaken island (if it was going be anywhere near the Fox Archipelago, Garland would have snapped right there and then), and passengers were locked in their staterooms. Of course, Garland was not the apathetic type. He would not leave the people to suffer, especially if it was messing up his ride back home. So with a deep breath, a quick change of clothes, and a cock of the gun, he was ready to bring the entire damn ship back into the control of friendly forces.

            However he would have never predicted that five others were on a mission slightly similar to his…

            Turning a corner quickly, whipping his SIG P228 out in front of him, he readied himself for a firefight. Instead he found himself face to face with four familiar individuals, the most familiar was a tall, lean man in a dark green military uniform, a green beret, and an eyepatch over his right eye. His associates included a man with a green vest, green pants, and a red bandana covering his head; another man wearing a dark blue outfit, a black baseball cap, and opaque sunglasses; a young woman with amazing blue hair, and a short green uniform, showing off a lot of skin; then there was one last man, dressed in a similar uniform as the first guy, but without a beret, a gray-blue color instead of military green, and a scoped Colt Anaconda chambered in .44 magnum hung by his hip. The rest were unarmed except the their fists.

            "Huh? Heidern?" the mercenary was both confused and surprised.

            "Haha, Garland Durev! What are you doing here?" the one-eyed assassin was equally surprised.

            "I could say the same to you. I got stuck in between this damn hostage situation, and I was going to clear it up."

            "I see. You against approximately fifty heavily armed terrorists, a possible bomb, and many hostages? Sounds like the typical job for a mercenary like you."

            "Yeah well, I'm not being paid for this. This is all charity work. Besides, I'm not a rescue type, I'm an assaulter/assassin."

            "Of course. Ah, forgive me. Allow me to introduce my friends and partners. This is Ralf Jones," he indicated the bandanna wearing fellow, who waved. "That is Clark Steele," Heidern pointed at the man with the black sunglasses and cap. "And this is my daughter, Leona," he gestured towards the blue-haired woman, who nodded back.

            "I see you have a new guy on your team," Garland looked over the next person.

            "Yes, he is a student of mine. His name is Michael Hansen, an excellent stratagist," the black haired man nodded, gray eyes focused at the job at hand.

            "This is Garland Durev, also known in the mercenary circles as 'Bloody Hands.' He is a formidable martial artist, easily among the best in the world. He's up there with Bogard and his friends, even Kusanagi," Heidern in turn introduced Garland.

            "Nice to meet you all, Team Ikari" he shook hands with each member. "But enough pleasantries. I want to clean out this ship and get back home."

            "We were approaching Whittier, until the terrorists took over. It's a distance from Anchorage."

            "That's fine. My hotel is in Anchorage. I can leave from the airport there."

            "Very well. Good luck in your mission. We're off to finish ours."

            "Take care, Heidern. Next we meet we'll spar, alright?"  
            "Sounds good."

            They split off from there. Garland met them several more times, usually to take out a particularly troublesome sentry. Thankfully, their missions never conflicted, and soon it ended with many enemy corpses thrown into the sea, and no friendlies killed. Everything was going smoothly, until one particular family became hysterical and demanded that they be evacuated. Despite the fact that there were no hostiles left, they still demanded to get on a particular lifeboat and head to mainland, with Garland as an escort. Boat A11, a vessel seemed rather… strange.

            "What the hell. What is armor plating doing on a lifeboat?!" the mercenary demanded when he examined the boat.

            "Protection," replied one of the family members.

            "Is that a turbocharged engine? With a boosters?"

            "To get away as fast as possible."

            "From what, may I ask?"

            "Rabid whales, crazy people, insane otters, things like that"

            "Right."

            As the boat was lowered, more startling facts were revealed.

            "Okay, it's not just one machine-gun. It's a quad-machine-gun set: four Browning .50 cal M2HB machine-guns. An M240 light machine-gun too? This isn't a lifeboat, it's a freaking heavy gunboat with more firepower than this entire cruise ship's occupants combined! Who the hell puts a gunboat on a luxury cruise ship!?"

            "We like to be prepared," spoke up the father of the family.

            "Paranoid shameless rich snobs…" Garland muttered under his breath. Regardless of the stupidity of the act, he agreed to be the gunner of the boat, given his military background. An actual sailor was brought as the driver, and the rest of the family would relax in fully-stocked leather interior titanium alloy exterior with enough ammunition for a frigging war. They would enjoy wine and fine meals while he and the sailor fellow got stuck with World War Two style K rations (emergency rations consisting of crackers, fruit juice powder, candy, and a small tin can with some sort of stew). Oh well, at least he got a free ride to Anchorage, and a "fat" tip.

            "Fat" indeed, he and the sailor got $10 each for their hard work. At least there was a little fun during the trip. After chatting with the driver over cans of stew, they agreed on a little joke. In the middle of the night, they carried it out. Screaming bloody murder and whatnot, the man behind the wheel accelerated the little gunboat to a high speed and moving the boat in wild zigzags and crazy curves, hollering about rabid seals, or something silly like that. While the boat zipped around the water, Garland loaded the quad-machine-gun set and fired sustained bursts into the sky and random directions. When the family tried to investigate the trouble, a convenient tight turn would throw them back into the cabin and shake them like a bad martini. After a good thirty minutes, they finally relaxed and resumed regular cruise. Despite the paltry tip, it was more fun than either of the men had in a while.

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            Once in Anchorage, Garland managed to catch a flight home (this time in First Class) and return to his apartment. From there, he stayed home, trained, slept, trained, ate, trained and waited for another job. For three months nothing came for him, which brought him to this point.

            December, an extremely cold month in Seattle-II. Unlike other post-Second Impact areas, the state of Washington was relatively untouched in terms of climate. Tokyo-II and then Tokyo-III were stuck in perpetual spring-summer, while the college he went to in Germany was trapped in a fall-winter mix. In Washington, the seasons were merely pushed into extremes: summer would be swelteringly hot; fall would be very windy and chilly; winter became near artic; spring soaked the ground with constant showers and humidly warm. Fortunately, Garland was a cold-weather person, and preferred the winter and fall over summer and spring. However during December, Garland was rarely home. This reason for this is that he often grabbed a flight to Germany and visited one of his closest friends, Asuka Langley Sohryu. Her birthday was just around the corner (December 4), and he had the perfect gift for her.

            After calling a seamstress friend of his, he managed to commission a yellow light summer sundress made of a silk, satin, and cotton mix. Why a summer dress, when she lived in a place that was constantly winter? He got a strange feeling that she would be needing it someday, and it would be one of her favorites, wherever she was going to need it.

            He would fly First Class to his homeland, where he would call up NERV-Germany, get in contact with Asuka, and arrange a few days off from her busy schedule. After all, she was an Evangelion pilot now, and must train as much as possible in order to get the best interaction with her EVA Unit. To get even a three-day leave from those anal-retentive bureaucrats would be a godsend, but it was rare.

            A few days later, and Garland was airborne, taking a flight to Baltimore-Washington International, then connecting to a flight across the Atlantic into Hereford, England. It was during the final leg of the flights, however, that complications sprang up. Between Great Britain and Germany, as Garland sat in the comfort of First Class, sipping at a nice single malt Scotch whisky, one of the passengers became rowdy. So rowdy, in fact, that he somehow procured a sharp weapon and began to threaten people with it.

            "The final day is coming! You will all be judged! And I had a vision; I am to be your adjudicator! Step forth and prepare to be tested!" the man screamed while pointing his sharp little nail file (how the hell it got past security, it would not be a mystery. They missed Garland's long knife, despite it being hidden on his person) in random directions. The passengers and stewards were all scared stiff, afraid of the man with a nail file for a weapon.  
            "Oh for the love of cheese," Garland mocked and walked up to the man.

            "Have you come to be judged?!" he whipped to face the newcomer.

            "No. I'm here to shut you up," the mercenary said as he threw a light left hook into the insane man's jaw.

            Instantly his glass jaw shattered and he crumpled like a giant sack of potatoes. Ignoring the cheers of the happy crew and passengers, Garland returned to his seat. Weird crap was always happening whenever he went out, vacation or work… Never a lucky break for the mercenary.

            When he finally landed, there was no one waiting for him. Despite calling in a few days prior to Asuka, there was no welcome group to greet him as he unloaded from the airplane. As he was waiting for his checked luggage, however, a voice from behind called for him.

            "Are you Garland Durev?" the voice was masculine, smooth, and relaxed, and spoke German naturally.

            "That's me. Do you need something?" Garland answered in his native language, his attention still focused on the baggage claim.

            "Asuka couldn't make it because of some special training today, so she sent me instead."

            "Oh, really. I trust her training is going well, then?"

            "You could say that, but she often complains her combat instructors are lacking, especially in hand-to-hand skills. She frequently wishes that 'Master Durev' was the one teaching her rather than NERV-provided teachers."

            "Heh. Sounds like her. I bet she squashes them in spars."

            "You are correct, sir."

            Garland finally found his bags, and turned around.

            "So you know me, but I don't know you. That leaves me in an awkward position."

            "Aha, well, I am Asuka's guardian…"

            "Special Agent Kaji Ryoji, intelligence operative of NERV and the JSSDF. I've heard a lot about you."

            "Well. And you said you didn't know me."

            "I didn't, until you said you were Asuka's guardian. She has told me that she was assigned a guardian until she was of age, and his name was Kaji Ryoji. The rest of the information I already knew," Garland then switched to Japanese. "We can speak this way, if it's more comfortable for you."

            Kaji responded with Spanish, "What about this?"

            Garland used Mandarin Chinese, "Too easy."

            Finally, the two of them spoke simultaneously in Russian, "Whatever it is, in the end it means the same."

            "Hmm… so you're one of 'them,' aren't you?"

            "I was for a while. Now, I think I'm out of a job. Maybe I could find one at NERV-Germany as an instructor or bodyguard."

            "What was your codename, if I may ask?"

            "I was 'Bloody Hands.'"

            Kaji's normally relaxed and easy-going attitude froze for a brief moment, barely noticeable, then returned to its regular pose.

            "My, quite amazing that I meet one of the legendary, and a good friend of Asuka's too."

            "If you say so. Let's get moving, shall we?"

            "Of course."

            After a long drive, several hours of security processing, and the detainment of Garland's knife, he was finally granted access to the EVA training center as a special temporary instructor, for personnel and staff. His credentials were expertly forged, produced by the most professional and experienced of groups; "ShadowOps" was a special service offered by a mercenary group in which a false identity was created, and 99.5% of the time it was never questioned. For Garland, his identity was only half-lies; the truths were his experience, skill, and martial arts mastery.

            Immediately after entering the physical training course, a red blur launched a Flying Dragon Kick into Garland's chest. It hit hard, sending the former mercenary soaring back into the hall. For the instructors and Kaji, it was strange to see a little girl kick the hell out of a newcomer, and for no apparent reason. It was even stranger to them when the newcomer retaliated with a shoulder ram of equal force. The red blur had solidified into a young redhead with sapphire eyes, a gleam of excitement in them; the girl rolled into the blow and flipped back up, immediately rushing into the offensive. Punch after punch, kick after kick, a near endless barrage of blows rained down upon the defending man, none getting through. With a final yell, she struck forward with a devastatingly quick and powerful punch, only to have it miss as the man dodged to the side and grabbed her arm. He retaliated with a series of quick backhands into her gut and chest, with a finishing elbow strike that sent her flying away. Not one to give up, the redhead backflipped up and rushed in with a mighty hook. Garland simply shifted to the side and let the punch soar past, forcing the girl to overextend herself. Hooking both arms under the girl's arms, he used his larger stature and strength to trap her.

            "A good start, but you rushed in with that last punch, and so left yourself open. But you've gotten much faster and stronger, dear Asuka. I'm proud of you."

            "Thanks, Master Durev!" the German girl smiled up to him.

            "So these are the guys helping you train? I'm grateful. You're not slacking off," he said as he looked around the room.

            "Yeah, but you're much better than they are. I prefer you over them."

            "Haha, you flatter me. How have you been since the last time I visited?"

            "Oh, just the same old. Tests and training, and more tests. The EVA sync tests are really annoying though, I have to…"

            "Ahh… Asuka. How about we give you a chance to freshen up, while Garland meets with your trainers about you regimen?" Kaji interrupted.

            "Okay, mister Kaji!" the girl dislodged herself from Garland's grip, and dashed away.

            "Hmm… trade secrets, I take it?" Garland asked as he watched Asuka disappear through a doorway.

            "Yeah, she's really excited about you, though," the intelligence agent replied.

            "I understand. Now, about her trainers?"

            When Asuka returned, she discovered all her trainers on the ground, moaning and nursing fresh bruises. Among them stood Garland, still standing the clothes he came in with: boots, black slacks, a dark blue button-up, and his old black woolen overcoat that Asuka was very familiar with. After all, it was the same coat that Garland had wrapped her up in when she nearly died from hypothermia.

            Garland's presentation of his gift was during a visit to a pastry shop, over cups of tea and cake. Upon opening, the German girl was ecstatic over her new piece of clothing, and immediately dragged the former mercenary into a shopping spree. Fortunately for Garland and his slowly shrinking bank account, Kaji had the foresight to supply Asuka with a NERV purchasing card with a fat amount of cash available. Soon, the two martial artists found matching shoes, jewelry, and even a make-up set, despite Garland's weak protests. Upon returning to NERV HQ, Asuka immediately dove into her training, working extra hard as if to impress her master and friend. For three weeks the process repeated itself: train, eat, train, have a bit of free time, Asuka disappears for EVA training, then a solo workout for Garland. The German girl's morale couldn't be any higher, and the NERV trainers even learned a few things.

            However it would all end, because his past had caught up with the former mercenary.

            Approached one day by a squad of armed soldiers, the leader of the group confronted the training group..

            "Sir, I'm going to ask you to come with me," he said, nervously clutching his G36C rifle.

            "Huh? What's going on?" Garland, the NERV trainers, and Asuka were all confused.

            "Sir, please, just come with me. Things will be explained later."

            "Alright, lead the way," the martial artist sighed and followed the grunt squad.

            Several hours later, he found himself loading his meager possessions into an old style roofless jeep, similar to those used by the Americans during World War II. As he threw his rucksack in the rear of the jeep, a voice behind him spoke up.

            "Asuka's pretty angry, you know," it was Kaji.

            Garland sighed, "I'm very well aware of that. But this is something I had no control over. You yourself should be very familiar with that."

            "Yeah, it happens a lot in the business," the eternally-unshaven man agreed. "What happened?"

            "SEELE happened. No one will admit it, but I'm very sure it's them trying to screw me over," Garland replied while securing his luggage.

            "The old men have it out for you?"

            "Yeah. I refused a job of theirs a while ago. Now they're afraid I might ruin their plans with my 'uncontrollable factors.' They hold a mean grudge. That and the fact that I'm officially dead, so it would be at the very least strange to have the identity of a man thought dead for more than five years."

            "I understand that more than you realize."

            "Do me a favor, Kaji?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Tell her… I'm sorry that I couldn't spend Christmas or New Years with her, and that I _will_ see her again, just not as soon as we both hope."

            "I promise."

            "I've always been curious… Does she still have that picture of her and a group of KSK soldiers?"

            "Of course. It's one of her greatest treasures."

            "Give this to her, then," the former mercenary said as he pulled out a small booklet. Upon further inspection, Kaji discovered a set of photographs, each of them with Asuka and Garland in the center. The final picture, however, was unique.

            "Hmm… This one…"

            "My secret," Garland admitted. "My mercenary combat uniform. If she asks, tell her about it, but leave out the scary parts."

            "Very well."

            "Sir, it's nearing 0400. They want you out of the facility by then," a private gently reminded the two. The private had attended several of the training sessions, as an observer and participant. During those moments of amazing martial arts and humble teachings, he had developed a respect for the man. It was a pity NERV wanted the special instructor gone because of a smudge in his records, since they would be throwing away a great asset, but people will be people, and people will be afraid.

            "Ah, that's right. Sorry, James. Let's get going before they start yelling at you," Durev jumped into the passenger seat and got comfortable.

            Without another word, Garland Durev left NERV-Germany, now only a collection of memories and a promise.

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            February 2007, seven months after Shadow Moses.

            After Germany, Garland purchased a ticket for Japan, in order to meet with several martial artists in the country. Apparently, this was also where NERV headquarters was, at Tokyo-III. He would have to avoid anything NERV related, since they (SEELE) would have most likely blacklisted him from everything that even remotely related to them. Fortunately for Garland, the people he needed to see were in Kyoto. It was a big change in climate; from Germany's eternal winter into Japan's endless summer, Garland had to switch out from his heavy coat, sweater, and slacks into a light t-shirt and jeans.

            After Second Impact, much of Japan was flooded. The original Tokyo still existed as a massive underwater graveyard; Tokyo-II and then Tokyo-III were built over artificially created land. For Garland's friends, they had moved away from Tokyo and settled in historic Kyoto. Although there were damages, they were minor compared to other cities and countries. As the warrior walked down a sidewalk lined by a chain-link fence, he happened to glance up into the sky. Streaking by, a trail of dust and smoke trailing behind, was a man wearing a red Chinese-style silk shirt, black pants, slippers, and his hair was tied into a pigtail. Soon after, a second streak zipped by, this time by another man garbed a yellow shirt, black pants, and a yellow black-speckled bandana wrapped around his forehead. A third streak followed, a third man with long hair, large flowing white robes, and the thickest glasses Garland had ever seen.

            Waving to them as they flew by, Garland could only smile as good memories flooded his mind.

            "Yo, Ranma! Ryoga! Mousse! I'm on vacation! See you at the dojo!" Durev's Japanese had a slight accent to it, but was close enough to almost pass as natural. Oddly enough, the flying men waved back as if they were going on a walk.

            Ahh, Tendo Dojo. This was the third official Tendo Dojo ever erected in Japan. The first and original dojo sank along with Tokyo and Nerima, and the second one was utterly demolished after a huge fight between several super-powered martial artists.

            Still, knowing such individuals of awesome skill and incredible power gave Garland the perfect incentive to keep on training, and keep on testing his skills. Eating Kasumi's food was a big bonus too, even if it meant suffering from Akane's toxi—err, "unique gourmet dishes." Ukyo was nearby, her restaurant rather popular in the area, as well as the Nekohanten. With so much available to Durev, he decided to take a short vacation in this area, and catch up on things with Ranma and his friends. Much of the Nerima Wreaking Crew had made it out of Second Impact safely, and they all congregated here.

            Ringing the doorbell once, he straightened his shirt and waited patiently to be greeted. What met him did not surprise him.

            "Hey, Panda-san! It's me, Garland! How are you doing?" the former mercenary looked silly bowing to a giant panda.

            "Growf," the panda greeted in turn, awkwardly bowing as well, and gestured him in. The smell of niku-jyaga (a tasty simmered beef and potato stew) permeated the air; the quiet cooking was accompanied by a happy, melodious humming. Garland stepped into the kitchen to greet a young woman that seemed to dance around while cooking.

            "Kasumi, still the same…" he said as he watched her.

            "Oh my, Garland-kun? It's been a long time!" the girl was surprised and pleased at Garland's appearance.

            "Yes, ma'am, it has. How has the family been doing?"

            "Quite well, to tell the truth. Will you be staying for dinner?"

            "And partake in your wonderful cooking? Of course! By the way, I saw the three guys taking a quick low earth orbit flight. Did they annoy the girls again?"

            Kasumi Tendo giggled in response, "I'm afraid so, but they've been getting better over time. They are all getting close recently."

            "Glad to hear it," Garland agreed. "Where's the rest of the family?"  
            "Father and Saotome-san are playing Shogi, as usual. Akane, Shampoo, and Ukyo are all in the dojo having some girl time, and Nabiki is wandering around as usual."

            "Ah… Nabiki… I'd better hide my wallet…"

            "Too late for that, Durev," a new voice cut in.

            "Bleh. I guess you want to 'show me around town,' again?"

            "Heh heh… Of course. We'll be back before dinner, Kasumi!" Nabiki Tendo, a young woman with a pageboy haircut and mahogany hair grabbed Garland's hand and dragged him outside.

            "Have fun!"

            A few hours later, the two mercenaries returned home. Nabiki looked quite content after her shopping spree. Behind her followed Garland, his arms filled with newly bought things, and his wallet as empty as a desert. As he deposited the boxes and bags, dinner sat ready to be eaten. Once everyone had sat down, there was a simultaneous "Itadakimasu!" and everyone dug in. With Garland present, there was much merriment, drinking, and swapping of stories. Tomorrow, they would spar, train, and learn from each other, as well as relax and see the sights (without Nabiki).

            A grand vacation, in Garland's humble opinion.

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            April 2007, eight months after Shadow Moses.

            There really wasn't much to do, other than train, eat, and train some more. His bank account was stable, with plenty of money left over from his mercenary days, it was just the sheer level of boredom of doing nothing every day. Upon returning from Japan he threw himself back into heavy training, constantly pushing his body to the limits. Combined with the memories of basic training, daily calisthenics and practice burned over a thousand calories an hour. This in turn, made him a very hungry person after training. As a result, his kitchen required restocking many times over the weeks.

            Hearing his stomach growl in complaint, the warrior set out on his motorcycle to the grocery store. A Honda CBR1100XX was his ride, painted black with choice modifications to the vehicle. He was not a big fan of "tricking out" his bike, seeing it as a big waste of money, but he allowed himself to improve the comfort and performance of the XX, without doing a thing to the engine: improved suspension system, streamlined chassis, better wheels, upgraded brakes, raised handlebars, a throttle lock, and gel handgrips for comfort. There were placements for side baggage, easy snap-on-snap-off compartments that did not interfere with performance, so Garland could store things away. Although it was not idea for winter weather, it was perfect for the other times of the year.

            While riding the Blackbird, he wore a modified version of his combat suit, altered for high-speed motorcycle riding. It still possessed the web gear attachments, but instead of holsters and ammo pouches, they were simply extra secure pockets. Rather than the usual gauntlets and metal reinforced boots, they were replaced by with biker gloves and Goretex combat boots. Colored black to match the CBR1100XX, the suit also maximized airflow for comfort while not messing up aerodynamics, and yet retained body heat well, removing the need for a jacket or coat. If needed, however, the suit did offered excellent ease of movement for combat. His helmet however, was the most advanced part. Utilizing miniaturized microphones and wiring, one could communicate from within the helmet to a person on the outside easily. With other features such as fiber-optic hologram views (like GPS), comfortable microcell foam padding, and air intake valves to circulate air, it effectively protected Garland's head with a Kevlar reinforced plastics, a tinted one-way polycarbonate visor, and incredible lightness.

            After purchasing his groceries and storing them away, he was about to equip his helmet when a flash of red hair stopped him. Only two people he knew had hair that bold, and the one of them was stuck in Germany. It wasn't long, however, for the other person to notice Garland and approach, a guitar case slung across his back. He wore a thick woolen coat over his usual uniform of a long white button-up shirt with a black jacket over it, and red pants with a band connecting the knees together.

            "Well. I haven't seen you in a while. How goes it?" Garland greeted him.

            "It's been alright," the other man's voice was dark and powerful.

            "Still the same. Are you here for business or pleasure?"

            "A little bit of both, but mostly business."

            "I understand. Your quest is neverending. At least, until you defeat him."

            "I will _kill _him."

            "I have no doubts about it. You're getting stronger with each battle, win or lose. You'll get him eventually."

            "Che. It's too slow. What about you? How have you been doing?"

            "I lost my job. Apparently people did not like my uncontrollable side, so they stopped hiring me."

            "That's too bad. What will you do now?"

            "Do as I usually do. Live and see what happens. Hey, you busy? I haven't had a good fight in a long time."

            "Heh heh heh… I was waiting for that."

            "Hop on. I'll give you a lift. Sorry, but no helmet."

            "I'll be fine."

            Once they arrived at an open lot, away from the public and prying eyes, the two of them faced each other. Immediately two auras sprang forth from the fighters, Garland's a blue hue with a reddish highlight, and the other man's a fiery purple.

            "No holds barred, anything goes! First one to give up or be K.O.ed loses and has to buy dinner!" Durev grinned.

            "Hahaha! Fine," the other man smiled darkly, a purple flame sparking in an open palm.

             As the former mercenary shifted into his usual stance: a basic Jeet Kune Do stance that offered equal levels of offense and defense, his opponent followed suit, his hands held in front of him like claws in an animalistic posture. For several moments they stared each other down, doing nothing but waiting. Suddenly, at the same time, they rushed at each other, speeding in with blows powerful enough to easily crush concrete.

            "_Bloodlust_!" Garland shouted as he struck high.

            "_Ya Otome_!" His opponent answered back, moving low.

            A clash of Titans, two of the strongest in the world.

------------------------

            November 2007, one year and two months after Shadow Moses.

            Even though it was well over eight months after his fight with Iori Yagami, Garland Durev still felt the burns induced by the his opponent. The match had ended in a draw, both fighters freezing before administering a deathblow. The red-haired man had a hand grasping Garland's shoulder, ready to pull down in a powerful slash that have opened his chest like a razor, while Garland had a knife hand pressed against Iori's neck, prepared to pierce the neck and rip out the throat. They had called it a draw, so both of them had to pay for dinner.

            "Damned flames. They hurt a lot more than I remember," Garland muttered as he pulled himself out of bed. His clock said 5:40, forty minutes past his usual wake up time. Allowing himself the occasional act of laziness, he had opted to sleep in for the morning. Now, he had to find some breakfast. Not wanting to cook today, he changed into his motorcycle suit and hopped onto his Blackbird.

            Meanwhile, a familiar face traversed the morning rush hour of Seattle-II. Being a metropolis, rush hour was not the best time to be on the road or walking around. With an annoyed breath, Maggie Thompson cursed the early morning. Ever since returning from Shadow Moses, she had been going back and forth constantly between the lieutenant and her regular work. And then the moment she had a chance to relax, she was sent off on a mission by Colonel Campbell to meet someone. She had been debriefed and admitted assisting and utilizing the skills of a mercenary hired to kill off the soldiers. By working together, the two of them were able to complete their objectives and return home (she left out the more gruesome details).

            The colonel was very interested in the mercenary, and immediately went about researching. A few weeks later, Campbell ordered Maggie to find Garland Durev and ask him to join the group. Easier said than done, trying to find one man in a large metropolis as Seattle-II was equivalent to the proverbial needle in the haystack. Regardless, she would find him. She would pose as a private detective, and ask around the city, at the martial arts joints and whatnot. Physically, he was common among the civilization. His hair was not unique, and loose clothing would cover up the defined body of his. But his eyes… those eyes were unique. It would be near impossible to tell by eyes, though, since she would have to be up close and personal. So here she was, walking down a busy street in a red turtleneck sweater, a khaki skirt, and black stockings fitting into a pair of fashionable boots. Around her neck was a white cashmere scarf; a gray woolen jack, soft leather gloves, and black earmuffs completed the ensemble.

            Sighing once again, she began to cross the street, heedless of the no-crossing sign.

            A black motorcycle suddenly appeared in front of her, giving only seconds for the girl to react. With a startled screech she tried to backpedal out of the way, but was unable to completely avoid it. Clenching her eyes tightly, she prepared herself for the incoming pain.

            None came. Several moments passed, yet nothing came. Only the cold biting winter winds remind her that she was still there. Peeking out one eye, she saw that the motorcycle was no longer in front of her. Instead, it was off to the side, laying against a mound of snow. Several feet away was the rider, sprawled on the ground in a painful lump. In an effort to avoid collision, the rider had veered off the side, rammed into a snow mound, and was ejected from his ride.

            "Oh my God, are you all right?" Maggie asked as she kneeled next to the man. He slowly sat up from his position, sunlight glinting off the opaque visor of the helmet/

            "I'm fine. What about you? Did I hit you?" the rider asked, his voice clearly heard over the integrated radio.

            "No, you missed me completely." _That voice… very familiar…_

            "Good. What were you doing walking into the middle of the street like that?"

            "I know, I know, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention and I just kept walking."

            "It's alright, Thompson. The bike isn't messed up and I'm fine."

            "How… who are you?"

            "Aww, you don't recognize my voice? I'm sad," the man pulled off his helmet, revealing it to be the person she was searching for. "Better?"

            "Garland?!"

            "No, I'm Santa Clause."

            "Shut it. So you live here?"

            "In Seattle-II, yeah. My apartment is a few seconds that way," he pointed down the road he came from. "I'm heading out for some breakfast. You want to come along?"

            "S-sure!"

            "Awesome. There's a spare helmet in one of the side compartments, but I'm afraid they won't stop the wind…"

            "I'll be fine. I'm FOX-HOUND, after all."

            "Of course, mighty warrior," Garland laughed and slid the helmet on. "You know what? I got a better idea: we'll walk back to my place and get you a suit that fits you. I have a few neighbors that have motorcycles too and are relatively the same size as you."

            "Very well. Lead the way."

            Maggie found Garland's home to be very plain, Spartan, yet comfortable. The colors and arrangement of the place hinted at Feng Shui, making the place seem energetic yet calm, old yet fresh. While she waited in the living room with a nice cup of jasmine tea (Garland actually had multiple varieties of Asian and European teas), her host was away to borrow a biker suit. Upon his return, she discovered that the biker suit was oddly similar to her Skull Suit and fitted to her just like one, hugging her curves very well. Her helmet was similar to Garland's, with the integrated microphone, and was comfortably snug.

            Moments later, the two soldiers sped away on the black XX, chatting amiably about what had happened over the year.

------------------------

Breakfast came and past, then lunch. Before dinner, however, they sat in a local park, relaxing in the cool weather. Garland had given Maggie a brief tour of the city, and she seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. It was until now that she remembered about her objective, and she had to convince Garland to join without sounding too pushy.

            "Hey, Garland? You said you're as good as fired in the mercenary world…" she asked as the two of them gazed across the lake.

            "Yeah, I said that. What about it?"

            "Do you want to return to the battlefield?"

            "Hmm…" Garland was silent for several moments. "Well, yeah. Civilian life is relaxing and all, but I feel at home in combat… Unfortunately, killing is probably the only thing I'm good at, other than martial arts and being an instructor. But… yes. I would like to return…"

            Maggie took a deep breath before giving out her proposal, "Garland, I did not come here just to visit you. My superiors in FOX-HOUND want you as part of the unit, and they sent me to recruit you, so to speak…"

            "…"

            Garland's silence was killer on Maggie's nerves. Had she said something wrong…?

            "Why should I join? What sort of benefits will I receive?"

            She sighed. At least he didn't outright reject it.

            "Full health coverage, retirement plan, and all the training you could possibly want. Metal Gear is still an active threat out there, as well as terrorists, so there will be a constant need for FOX-HOUND."

            "Wasn't FOX-HOUND disbanded?"

            "Officially it was, but Colonel Campbell as well as several high ranking officials kept its continued existence secret. Many soldiers were removed from the regular FOX-HOUND ranks and placed into conventional Special Forces; only the most trusted and best men and women were kept. Now, we're simply looking for recruits that are similar: unique, strong, and capable of keeping a secret. You pass all requirements by a huge margin."

            "Hmm… what about my condition?"

            "Huh?"

            "You know about it. You've witnessed it yourself… I mean, you've heard it. I have the cursed blood of the Berserker, an unstoppable and uncontrollable force of ruthless destruction and death. How would people react after seeing it? I'll tell you. Terror. Absolute terror. They cannot even stand next to me knowing that such a demon resides within me…"

            Suddenly, Garland found a pair of arms wrapping around him, the warmth of another person pressed against his side.

            "I'm not afraid. I know that you would not hurt me, not even as the berserker."

            "I… that is… uh…" for the first time in many years, Garland was left speechless. This young woman, who had known him for less that 24 hours, trusted him even with the threat of a bloody and gruesome death by his own hands.

            "Shh," she silenced him. "Just accept it."

            Maggie felt Garland relax, the tension bleeding out slowly. Wait, he was tense? Was he always like that, with a certain level of stress constantly bothering him?

            "Thank you, Maggie," he whispered before turning his head to look at her. "Hey, you hungry? I'll show you one of the best taverns in the entire United States."

            "Mmm… That sounds good."

            The Mystic Shadows Tavern was a privately owned restaurant and bar, belonging to a woman with a great imagination. As the name of the building may suggest, there is a medieval tone to the place, with suits of armor, shields, swords, and other related decorations strewn about. Waitresses and waiters dressed like bar wenches and peasants served the amused guests an assortment of Irish, Scottish, English, French, and German cuisine. A wide range of imported and domestic beers, as well as a selection of fine wines and liquors made the place popular among both friends and adults. As a result of its reputation, getting a table there was rather difficult. Unless you had a special relationship with the proprietor of the establishment, like Garland did. Immediately upon entering, he and Maggie were escorted by a rather beautiful and busty blonde waitress to Garland's "usual table."

            "Hey, thanks, Chantal. Could you get Sarah for me? I'd like to talk to her," Garland said as he sat down.

            "Sure, hon! I'll be right back," she smiled with dazzling white teeth and disappeared off.

            "So, who's this Sarah person? And how did you get a table so quickly?" Maggie was appropriately curious.

            "Ah, you see, Sarah Splaine is a good friend of mine. I've known her ever since I moved here to Seattle-II. She's also the owner of this tavern."

            "Technically, you own half the place, Garland," a third voice cut in.

            "Saaarrraaaaaaah!" Garland drawled out while standing up and hugging the woman. "How have you been? Business doing well?"

            "Haha yes, of course! Everything's been going great. You want me to get your usual?"

            "No, thank you. I need to keep it low today; I have to drive, so give me water. Could you get her a…?" he looked at Maggie.

            "Gin-and-tonic with a slice of lime, please."

            "Wow. Can you handle it?"

            "Hey, I'm no lightweight, damn it," Maggie narrowed her eyes at Garland, then faced Sarah, "What did you mean that he owns half the place?"

            "I'll let Garland explain that to you while I get your drinks," the bartender/owner smiled and walked away.

            Maggie looked expectedly at the former mercenary.

            "Ah, well. You see, as a mercenary I naturally bring in large sums of cash as compensation and reimbursement for my services. You've seen my home, and it's not that elaborate or filled with expensive stuff. Personally, I do not find a need for so much material wealth, living with only with what I need and a few 'wants.' So my bank account is rather fat, so to speak. I met Sarah at a bar in California; after a mission I relaxed a bit in the area. Anyways, she explained to me that she actually lived in the Seattle-II area and had always wanted to open a tavern in the city, but she lacked the necessary funds to do so. The banks would not give her a loan, and she was getting pretty low. And so, to a complete stranger, I pulled out my paycheck of $30,000, placed it on the bar top, and slid it to her. All that was needed was a signature, and she could cash it."

            "And I'm eternally grateful for it. This guy, after only an hour of getting to know me, gave me $30,000 to start my own business. Combined with my own funds, it was more than enough to get this place started. He even named the place!" Sarah had returned with drinks, including one for herself. "More than half this building is due to Garland's money."

            Garland was given his glass of ice water. Maggie's gin-and-tonic was pretty good with that slice of lime, and Sarah's rye-and-coke was always a good choice.

            "Wow, Garland, you're really nice to people," Maggie said after sipping her cocktail.

            "Redemption," was all he said as he sipped his own drink.

            "So, fellas, what can I get for my favorite martial artist and his girlfriend?" Sarah had a mischievous grin on her face.

            Garland, who had been taking another drink, suddenly coughed as the water went down the wrong pipe. Both girls had to stifle giggles. Here was a man that was a few years older than both of them, had experienced life-or-death situations, and fought some of the scariest people on the planet, yet he got nervous and acted like a teenager when girlfriends were involved.

            "Ah, well… you see… that is…" he stuttered.

            "We're business associates, and he was showing me around town today," Maggie saved the day.

            "Right. As you say," the grin was still plastered across her face.

            "I'll get some sauerbraten with a Guinness," Garland looked over to Maggie.

            "Hmm… I've never had Scottish food before. Could I have a sort of sampler dish? With a Miller light, please."

            "Of course! I'll have Chantal bring it out in a moment."

            "Thank you."

            As the bartender/owner left with their orders, the two soldiers were left alone to their own devices.

            "So… you know everyone here?" Maggie tried to break the silence.

            "Hmm… just about, actually. Chantal, you've met. There's Jen," he pointed at a short yet cute girl with long brown hair; "Over there is Yury, along with Bruce," the only two male waiters; "And that's Allison, A.J., Katie, Kat, and Amanda," a group of young women working on the other side of the restaurant."

            "You come here pretty often, don't you?"

            "I guess. They like me, and I like them."

            "Ah. Well, have you put any thought into joining my organization?"

            "That was a big change in topic," Garland sighed and leaned back into his chair. "Your offer is tempting, but it doesn't sound much different from my current job."

            "There's job security, and you will be among other people with… unique abilities."

            "Hmm. Like you and your necromancy."

            "Yeah. You should fit in pretty well as a solo operative."

            "But isn't FOX-HOUND for reconnaissance and stealth operations? I'm an assaulter and combat specialist, not a sneaker."

            "I understand that, but you snuck through Shadow Moses pretty well. It's obvious that you have skills in it."

            "Yeah, well…"

            By then, their food came, and gave them a different topic to talk about. It was mostly centered around Maggie, and the mix of foods she had on her plate: colcannon (a stew-like dish made of cabbage, turnips, carrots, and potatoes), a small loaf of bannock (oat barley bread), a small Scotch Pie (meat-filled), and of course, haggis (you don't want to know). Fortunately for Maggie, no one told her the ingredients in haggis, so she was left to enjoy the meal without worrying.

            After leaving a good tip for their waitress, they returned to Garland's apartment on a high-speed street rocket, a rather exhilarating ride for Garland's passenger. They settled down into the apartment, sharing a drink of Jack Daniel's.

            "So you don't have a hotel yet?" Garland asked as he poured a bit of whiskey into a glass filled with ice, handing it to his guest.

            "No, I haven't. I was looking for one when we bumped into each other," she accepted the glass with a nod and took a sip.

            "If you want, you can crash here for the night. I can sleep on the couch."

            "You sure?"

            "Positive. I can't leave a lady like you outside hunting for a cheap hotel. I'll even throw in a complimentary breakfast."

            "You're nice," Maggie smiled, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. The gin-and-tonic and beer she had at the restaurant was already in her blood, and the Jack Daniel's was only making it worse. "Could I have a refill?"

            "Damn. You sure can put the stuff down," Garland grinned as he poured her a third glass of whiskey.

            "I told you, I'm no lightweight," she huffed and drank it down.

            "Hmm…" the martial artist's smirk was still etched across his face. "You know what? I'm getting tired, so I think I'll go to sleep now."

            "Okay. Could you show me where your room is?"

            "Of course, follow me."

            As Maggie stood, however, the alcohol hit her full force, and she stumbled right into Garland. He caught her easily, the smaller woman feeling surprisingly light in his hands.

            "Ahh… Sorry. It really hits me when I stand," she giggled and finished off the remnants of her drink.

            "Good grief. You've had a lot to drink tonight. That gin-and-tonic, the beer, and three glasses of Jack, I'm amazed you can still speak coherently!"

            "Not a lightweight, damn it," she managed to slur out before looking up to Garland's amused face. She was suddenly captured by those eyes again, those seemingly endless pools of smoky gray-blue crystal of focused will and hidden power. So lost into those orbs that she did not realize that she was staring for several minutes. Unknowingly, Garland was staring back into her own green-blue gems, but he was faster at realizing it.

            "Ah! Are you all right?" he managed to stutter out. _Was she that drunk?_

            "Hehe… you're cute," she giggled and wrapped her arms around Garland's neck. With more strength than Garland realized, she pulled down the surprised mercenary and kissed him roughly on the lips.

            _Yep. She's drunk. But so soft…_

All of a sudden, she went limp in his arms, her own arms still wrapped around Garland's neck and her lips still pressed against his. A moment later, soft snoring was heard.

            Bloody hell, she's asleep? Better put her to bed then…

            That night, Durev stayed up late, relaxing with a goblet of brandy and thinking about his decision. To join FOX-HOUND, and tying himself to an organization of which his loyalties must permanently lie, or remain a mercenary and remain free, but never get a job again? He had plenty of money, more than enough to live off of until he could find a replacement job. But in the end, it would be dreadfully boring. It was unfortunate, but he _needed_ combat. The battlefield was his home, bullet wounds a badge of office, fighting a way of life. While many soldiers would be happy never having to pick up a rifle and shoot a man, Garland could not even picture himself in the future without a gun. To the rest of the world, Garland Durev was a dead person, and he would not be able to fit in into the public as easy as he wanted…

            Finishing the last of his brandy, he made a decision.

------------------------

            Maggie Thompson awoke that morning with a horrendous headache. In addition to that, the morning sun seemed to glare brighter than ever before. An overwhelming sense of nausea assaulted her senses, and the urge to vomit was intense. Still, she fought down the urge with steel discipline, and pulled herself out of bed. Standing groggily, dizziness kept her from standing straight and noticing her surroundings. Where the hell was she? The FOX-HOUND commando staggered out of the room and into even more unfamiliar surroundings. The delightful smell of breakfast was really damn good though, and she felt really damn hungry. Her surprise was unexpected as she discovered an apron-wearing Garland Durev standing behind a stove sizzling with breakfast.

            "Oh, hey, good morning. Breakfast will be ready soon. How do you like your eggs?" he looked at her briefly before returning to his cooking.

            "Scrambled, please. Ugh… What happened last night? I don't remember much," Maggie winced as she sat down in the abnormally bright room.

            Garland coughed, but pulled himself together quickly, "Ah, well you fell asleep after your third glass—"

            "Third glass? Damn it. No wonder my head hurts so much."  
            "Yeah, well, after you fell asleep I carried you into bed and I crashed here in the living room," he approached the table with two steaming plates. On her plate were two fried eggs, three strips of bacon, and a biscuit. Garland had a similar plate, but his eggs were sunny side up.

            "I made a decision, about joining FOX-HOUND," he said as he sat down across from her.

            "Oh?"

            "I'm in."

            Her smile was brighter and more beautiful than anything Garland had ever seen.

------------------------

A/N: One more to go, folks. Bear with me. Coming up next chapter: more cameos, a fight, and life in FOX-HOUND. And yes, I've had haggis before. It's pretty good, just as long as you forget that it's made of… well, look it up yourself.


	12. Chapter 10: FOXHOUND

**Disclamer:** See the Foreword. Additionally, Michael "Venom" Hansen belongs to Grey Wolf4, Gregory "Psychic Panther" Kinezono belongs to ShardclawKusanagi, James "Silent Scorpion" Masterson and Lieutenant Matthew Reese belongs to RuneKnightPictures, and Riku "Drakken" Hanabashi is DarkFusion's. Nagi Naoe and Tot are from the anime/manga Weiss Kruez, and I do not own that franchise.

**Author's Babble:** This is it, folks, the final chapter of _Bloody Hands_. I would like to thank everyone that has read and reviewed this story. As I have stated in the foreword, this is my first ever fanfiction, and I'm very glad it came out so well. This chapter is the longest I've written yet, easily four times larger than the first few chapters. Enjoy, everyone. And thank you. [EDIT: if this particular chapter lacks proper indents, I blame 's document manager. My copies of the story possess the indents, but they didn't show up on the quickedit and preview. If they DO show up, however, then ignore this edit.]

**Metal Gear: Bloody Hands**

Written by Tempest Dynasty

------------------------

**Chapter 10: FOX-HOUND**

Subchapter 1: Second Doubts

Her smile was beautiful.

Her eyes were like twin flawless gems.

And her lips were…

_Damn it stop thinking about that_! Garland scolded himself as he recalibrated the sights on the long rifle he was using. Accustomed to bolt-action rifles for long distance shooting, he had chosen an Accuracy International Arctic Warfare Super Magnum sniper's rifle for his long-rifle tests.

Many of FOX-HOUND's requirements were very tough to pass to the average soldier. However, Garland was ex-Special Forces, a mercenary for several years, and had the lifetime's worth of training and refinement. The physical tests were easily passed, Garland having blown through the basics, short-range run, an uninterrupted series of sit-ups, uninterrupted push ups, a fifty-meter freestyle swim test, underwater diving ability, and a lone wilderness march easily, breaking well over the required aspects. Intelligence tests were easy as well, due to Garland's education and experience in the field. The one that gave him the most trouble was the psychological tests. Would they figure out that he was a Berserker? Would he be rejected because of that? Was his mental strength strong enough? Several professional psychologists answered his questions: superb mental health and strength. Some trauma due to combat experiences, but it was perfectly acceptable.

After the exams, came the training drills. Several of them such as battlefield survival and language were bypassed, since he did not need the training. Overall, FOX-HOUND's training was like an intense refresher course of his old KSK days, as well as a few new things such as field medic certification and nautical control. The martial arts portion was a joke, however. Against FOX-HOUND's best hand-to-hand combat trainer, Garland defeated him in record time without receiving a blow to himself.

Now was Garland's marksmanship training, a required 95% for targets beyond 900 meters. Although proficient in most small arms of the world, he was not the best shooter. Decent with a pistol, submachine-gun, and rifle, he could compete with some of the best soldiers in the world, but he was no sniper. It would not matter, anyways, since many of his trainers agreed that Garland would most likely become a close-quarters-combat specialist.

Sighting his target once again, he paused a moment to steady his aim. The scope was calibrated based on distance, gravity, wind speed and direction, and position of target. A single .338 Lapua armor piercing magnum round sat in the chamber, eager to fly.

Will she be like Ashley? Would she betray the former mercenary as Ashley had, completely destroying his heart in an act of deception, manipulation, and torture? Painful memories of a torture room, heat and cold, severe nausea, drugs, electrocution, whips, those cold hateful eyes…

He suppressed a shudder. Even now, several years after that particular incident, the pain was still there. Oddly, none of the memories had surfaced until recently. Those thoughts must have been suppressed very well…

Ashley Moore, code name "Dead Illusion," another mercenary like Garland, with a nasty way of getting rid of competition. She was also Garland's first girlfriend, until that night…

Suddenly, the humanoid target looked like Ashley, her brown hair cascading around her deceptively innocent and beautiful face and down her back. She was smiling the same way she had so long ago—a charming smile that hid suppressed cruelty. The image went blurry, and solidified into Maggie's image. Slowly, agonizingly, the images shifted back and forth. Why? Why was he seeing this? Past and future, guilty and innocent, betrayer and… friend…

With gentle squeeze of the trigger, the rifle barked loudly and spat out the magnum, load. With a clang, it pierced the thin metal target easily.

Headshot.

The images disappeared instantly, exorcised by the gun. But before they had fade away, it had appeared as a hybrid of the two women, possessing the best traits of both of them.

Garland did not realize he had tears in his eyes until an instructor told him to clean up and pack up. Wordlessly, he did so, returning the weapon and extra ammunition to the quartermaster. After receiving his results (which were passing), he found himself in an empty hallway, shivering despite the comfortable temperature. Hugging himself slightly, he allowed the tears to build, the pain to come and go, a weakness to reveal itself. Never again did he want to experience such tragedy and suffering, the terrible pain that ripped at his heart. But loneliness was a powerful force, something Garland had been fighting off for many years.

**She could be another Ashley, you know.** A dark voice echoed in his mind.

_I hope to God not._

**How do you know she isn't?**

_I don't. But I'm willing to give her a chance._

**Don't regret it later…**

"Garland? Are you okay?" Maggie's voice came from down the hall. Garland looked up to see her walking towards him, dressed in civilian clothing.

"I'll be fine. I don't what came over me, but it's fading away."

"You've been training too hard and too long without a break," she soothed. "C'mon. You've received a four-hour leave, so let's go get some lunch, alright?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. Let me shower and change, and I'll meet you at the motor pool."

"Gotcha. See you then!" she smiled and walked away.

_No, I don't think she's anything like Ashley…_

**Be careful, nonetheless.**

_Hmm…_

------------------------

Subchapter 2: Codename

"Mr. Durev, I would like to personally congratulate you on your accomplishment. I had no doubts of your passing, but you have thoroughly impressed me and the other officers. On the behalf of every member of this organization, welcome to FOX-HOUND," an old but still going strong man in class-A uniform announced to Garland. Along with three other officers, the leader of the reformed FOX-HOUND, Colonel Campbell, shook hands with the newly admitted soldier.

"Thank you, Colonel. I hope to be great use to you all," Garland had to keep it formal, neat, and grateful sounding.

"Now that you are an official member of FOX-HOUND, you will be assigned a room, Codec implants, and free access to the virtual training room. You will also be assigned a code name based on your abilities and skills," the only person Garland disliked in the room, Lieutenant Matthew Reese, spoke up and looked over a piece of paper. "Your code name will be, due to your unique skills, Berserker Demon."

Garland said nothing, but instead raged internally. This fool was openly mocking him by giving him such a name…

The Colonel looked up and whispered to the former mercenary, "Don't mind him, he's a jerk to everyone."

That didn't do much to calm him, but he would have to deal with it.

"Thank you, sir."

"You have several missions already lined up, so suit up and meet here in ten minutes. I will brief you personally," Lt. Reese smiled. "You're FOX-HOUND now, and you should be prepared for any mission and any time. Dismissed."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Sure."

"What about the Codec implants?"

"You won't need them where you're going. Now get moving. I dislike late soldiers."

"Yes, sir."

------------------------

Subchapter 3: Familiarity

Three years passed since Garland's initiation into FOX-HOUND. During those three years, he had been on a total of thirty-six missions; the bothersome Lieutenant Reese gave thirty of those assignments. Not being one to desire conflict, Garland said nothing but took on the mission each time. Every month there was something for him to do, even if there were other better qualified soldiers for the job. His most recent job was one of the worst examples: Garland was given the job to be a counter-sniper during a rather prominent parade featuring several important government executives. Rather than assigning an actual FOX-HOUND sniper, Lieutenant Reese called for the close-combat specialist Garland Durev to be the anti-sniper. Despite not even having a spotter assist in his job, he was still able to locate, isolate, and eliminate twelve hostile snipers.

When he returned to base, he got nothing more than a berate from the officer.

"You should have gotten all of them faster, grunt," was all Reese had to say, obvious angered at the fact that once again Garland had risen up to the challenge and actually beat it.

Also, during his absence it seemed that four new recruits had passed and joined the ranks of FOX-HOUND. The recruits were unfamiliar with the martial artist, and immediately saw him as a "newbie." They would all learn that he was not.

One day, on a whim, Garland entered the small library/research center of FOX-HOUND headquarters. There were many computers available, and they were chock full of digitized novels, but they could not replace good old-fashioned books. He was surprised to find another person in the library, a person that seemed rather familiar. The mystery person seemed to detect Garland and he looked up.

"Oh, hello. I haven't seen you around here. Are you new?"

"Hey. No, I've actually been apart of FOX-HOUND for three years now, but I've been on missions for a while."

"I see, so you're my senior?"

"I guess you could say that. I'm Garland Durev, codename 'Berserker Demon.'"

"That's it! I knew I saw you from somewhere. I'm Michael Hansen AKA 'Venom.'"

"Right, you were that new guy with Team Ikari and Heidern. Interesting to see you here. Did something happen with Heidern and them?"

"No, I just felt like going off on my own."

"I see. Hey, you like chess? I'm pretty bored and I could use a good partner."

Michael smiled and nodded, "Of course. I love chess."

"Excellent. I call white."

Quickly and efficiently the two soldiers set up their respective pieces across the table. It was going to be one of the many games played in the future.

"So why did you join FOX-HOUND?" Garland moved his pawn.

"I got an invite from Campbell. Apparently my skills were in need, and since I had nowhere else to go, I accepted," Michael countered with his own pawn.

"Hmm… Same way I got here. It's nice to see a familiar face, especially one that I have no doubt is experienced."

"Thanks for your confidence. At least one person thinks so."

"Let me guess, Reese?"

"Is he that notorious?"

"Worse. Ever since I joined I've been on a mission every month. Reese assigned Ninety percent of those missions, and they were all not suited for me. I'm a close-combat specialist and an instructor for FOX-HOUND, yet Reese wants me to be 'good all-around.' Heck, the last mission I was on I had to be a counter-sniper against professional assassins. You don't send a CQC specialist on a sniping mission."

"I see. Check."

"Wha? Already? Damn," Garland quickly shifted a piece.

"Any other warnings?"

"Yeah. I'm the hand-to-hand combat instructor. I'm not nice to anyone."

"Haha, I'll keep that in mind."

"Check."

"What goes around, comes around…" Michael murmured as he took a moment to strategize.

"There's another person in FOX-HOUND you might like."

"Oh?" Venom shifted his bishop.

"Maggie Thompson, a good friend of mine. She loves chess more than I do…" Berserker Demon used his rook in response.

"Great, I'll have to hunt her down then."

"Are there many other recruits?"

"Yes, sir. There are a lot of younger people coming in."

"Really? You worried about them?"

"Not really. If they could make it into FOX-HOUND I'm sure they can survive out in the battlefield."

"Do they have much experience?"

Michael sighed, breaking his focus from the game, "That's their biggest weakness. Despite having the latest and greatest of VR simulation technology, nothing can replace actual experience."

"Well then, it'll be up to us older guys with actual experience to guide them."

"I won't let them fail."

"You'd make a good father, Hansen."

The younger man didn't say anything, suddenly lost in a storm of memories.

"It could have…"

"Hansen," that brought him out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry if I brought back any bad memories."

"No, no, it's okay. It was actually a good memory…"

"I'm sure you'll find someone that needs you. All you need to do is wait."

"But for how long?"

"…I can't answer that. But I feel that it's soon."

"You know what? I believe you," the two soldiers shared a laugh.

The game continued on for nearly an hour, neither man getting the upper hand. Pieces were lost, sacrificed, and gained. Finally, Michael trapped Garland's king in a three-way ambush. A rook, a pawn, and a knight prevented the king's escape.

"Checkmate."

"Damn. Good game, Hansen."

"Please, call me Michael. All my friends do."

"Very well. Shall we play again?"

"Could we? I haven't had a game like that in a while."

Garland smiled, and reset his pieces.

A bond of brotherhood through mutual understanding.

------------------------

Subchapter 4: Revelation

"Have you ever even approached the VR battle system?" Maggie and Garland wandered the halls side-by-side.

"No, I don't find it necessary. Training in real life is more effective for me."

"Oh, come on. If anything, you could set records for people to beat. Give it a try?"

"Alright, if it'll make people train harder…"

"Great!"

The Virtual Reality system was a marvel of modern technology. Unlike civilian-owned VR systems, the modern military had full-sense immersion systems that affected every part of the human body, even the sense of smell. By strapping into the system, one could be instantly be transported into a fully rendered virtual world that seemed as real as the actual world. Even pain is transmitted, so the experience is as close to the real thing as possible.

With Maggie at the main controls, Garland situated himself into the VR system.

"We'll start with some of the basic missions first, then begin on the more specialized ones."

"Yes ma'am."

Garland closed his eyes, felt the world shift slightly as the system started up. When he opened his eyes, the dark VR room was replaced by a gray floor-wall world with random bits of digital data flying around the "sky."

"The sky is something everyone is too lazy to fix, so we just stick with it. Anyways, your objective is to reach the marker at the end of the level without getting spotted. Neutralizing or disabling guards is acceptable, but it will cost you time. The faster you go, the better your score."

"Gotcha."

"Would you like to spend some time getting used to everything?"

"No, I think I'll be fine."

"Alright. This is the first no-weapon sneaking level. Good luck!"

"Heh…"

Garland immediately sprinted, turning the corner to see a single guard facing the opposite direction. Before the digital guard even had a chance to turn and look down the hallway, Garland had already closed the space between them and launched a flying jump kick that smashed the guard into unconsciousness. Not even taking a moment to turn, he leapt sideways and landed on the end marker. The world suddenly blinked away, leaving him floating in a sea of flying words.

"Wow, that was pretty damn awesome, Garland. Your run broke the record! Most people take time to throw the guard then run."

"Really? I guess I'm good at making split-second decisions. What's next?"

"I'm sure you'll get bored with this quickly, so we're moving on to pistol."

"Nah, I want to try that unarmed test."

"Alright, if you say so. Loading up One Minute Battle, versus targets. Your targets will be these things," A human-sized green object appeared before Garland, looking like a tall pyramid with a polyhedron on top. "You have one minute to destroy as many as possible."

"Heh. Sounds fun. Load it up."

The ground solidified, a large square arena devoid of anything.

"Ready? There's a record set for this one, so try and break it. Start!"

Several objects appeared around the martial artist, only to disappear in a shatter of digital glass as he struck them all. Normally, it would require an average of three hits to destroy the targets as a measure of strength. However Garland was not the average soldier, and his strength was well above a FOX-HOUND grunt's. As a result, it only took one or two hits to destroy a target. To onlookers, Garland seemed to move with fluid grace and purposeful step, a dance that was beautiful yet deadly at the same time. Each blow

"That…" his controller was speechless for a moment. "That was amazing! You smashed the record completely!"

"Yo, Boss Lady! Who's the new guy?" a new voice filtered through.

"That's 'Berserker Demon,' Greg. He just obliterated your record."

"What?! I don't believe that. Tell him I'm meeting him in there a few seconds!"

"Hmm… hear that, Garland? You'll be getting a real live opponent soon. He's one of the new recruits, and rather good in hand-to-hand and psychic combat. Be nice!"

Garland could swear he saw her smirking at him, "Roger that, 'Boss Lady!'"

Suddenly a swarm of pixels began to form several yards away from him. The little blocks of data were coming together to form a young man in his mid twenties. Light brown skin and short thick black hair, only his head was visible due to a large cloak that covered the rest of his body. Despite having no wind in the VR world, the cloak seemed to billow gently.

"Garland Durev, I challenge you to a fight!" he said with fierce brown eyes.

"I accept. You have me at a disadvantage, however. I do not know your name," Garland responded while subtly shifting in to a relaxed stance, one hand in a pocket of his combat uniform. To the chagrin of Lieutenant Reese and a few soldiers, Garland kept with his mercenary equipment and tools, finding them much more useful and comfortable than the standard issue Skull Suit, weapons, etcetera.

"Kinezono. Gregory Kinezono. Also known as 'Psychic Panther!'" The nonexistent wind seemed to blow harder.

"'Psychic Panther, eh? FOX-HOUND's newest psychic soldier. I've heard about you."

"Yeah? I'm surprised that a new guy like you would know that already. I didn't see you at my introduction, nor around the base. Did you come in recently?"

"You could say that."

"You broke my record. Now I have to see how good you really are!"

"I'm ready anytime you are."

"One moment, I want some music," Greg looked to the sky. "Hey, Boss Lady! Play me Rammstein's _Feuer Frei_!"

Seconds later, the guitar rifts of the song blasted throughout the digital world.

"Heh. Alright kid, show me what you got!" Garland slid into a relaxed Jeet Kune Do ready position.

"Hmph. You're gonna be sorry for calling me 'kid,' old man!" Greg gripped his cloak and ripped it away, revealing him to be wearing a white jacket, a black shirt with a white line stitched vertically and horizontally across it, making a cross. Jeans and boots completed his lower body attire, and black gloves with a burning sun motif adorned his hands. He then slipped into a familiar stance.

"Kyo Kusanagi fan, eh? Good…"

"Eh? You know him?"

"We'll talk after we fight. Deal?"

Greg smirked, "Deal."

Neither fighters were fools nor impatient. They stared each other down for several moments, a sense of electricity hanging in the air. In the control room, a small crowd of soldiers gathered around the video screen to watch the battle. Several even began to bet who would win.

Suddenly, the fight began. With a short battlecry Greg charged forward with a fierce punch that forced Garland into the defensive. Having nothing less other than to block, the German-American retreated. Greg's charge continued, the punch chaining into a series of quick blows that kept Garland busy. A final _kiai_ Greg threw a kick that broke through Garland's defense and smashed into his left cheek.  
_Ha! Take that!_ Greg smirked in victory as his kick forced his opponents head to the side. His smirk died a horrible death when Garland's head slowly turned to face him once again.

"Nice hit. Fast, accurate, strong. You'll do just fine," it was Garland's turn to smirk. He grabbed the offensive leg in a vice-like grip and spun around, pulling the leg to throw Greg over his shoulder. The younger man reacted in time to recover from the throw, but he was surprised when a fist shot out to catch him in the chest. So much force was in that single punch that Greg was sent soaring several yards away. Greg skidded several feet before flipping up to regain his footing while giving Garland a look of shock.

"How do you like my 'Demon Hand,' Kinezono? A whole lot of power in a quick punch," Garland held up his hand; it seemed to have a faint red glow.

_Shit, he threw me with only one hand, and then punched with the other!_ Greg thought as he prepared himself.

Garland dashed in, throwing a quick punch at Greg's head to test his defenses. Instead of blocking, however, Greg stretched his hands out and grabbed Garland's fist, using the former mercenary's momentum to bring him up over his head.

"Too easy!" Greg shouted and slammed Garland onto the ground. Not being one to waste time, Garland sweeped from his prone position to trip the dark-skinned man then brought his other leg up to kick Greg's falling body. As his opponent went flying away, Garland took the time to jump up and ready his assault once more. Not even given a chance to breathe, Greg was suddenly assaulted by a flurry of kicks; Garland had leapt into the air and brought his right leg around into a forward spin kick, followed by a spinning heel kick, and ending with a short heel drop. But before Garland could continue his attack, Greg rolled backwards away from his opponent.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Greg acknowledged, and brought his right hand down to his side. "Now try this! _Urusee_!" He shot forward as if throwing a mighty punch. However his hand had changed shape, melting from a humanoid hand into an armor-piercing drill. Unlike actual combat, lethal moves and weapons could be utilized in virtual reality combat, as proven by Greg's use of his special attack.

"Hmm, a unique skill," Garland simply stood there and waited for the attack to come. At the last possible moment, he shifted his body to the side, dodging the attack entirely. His hand shot out as the drill arm passed his chest, grabbing the forearm and pulling it downwards in a circular motion. As a result, Greg was sent sprawling to the ground, his attack rendered completely useless. As Greg flopped, Garland took the time to create a small gap between them, no longer in the defensive.

"Get up, kid. You'd be dead if this was real combat."

"I'm not a kid, damn it!" he was getting emotional.

Good.

Garland rushed in again, a plan formulating in his head. As he got close, he punched forward again; if he was right…

Kinezono countered Garland's punch once again, pulling his opponent high into the air.

"Take a seat!"

"After you," Garland hooked his other hand around Greg's neck, still moving forward from his attack. Twisting his other hand loose, it too wrapped around Greg's head and neck. Garland flipped over his opponent, combining the momentum of his leap with his own strength to pick up Greg and throw him forward.

Up above, Maggie and an even larger crowd of FOX-HOUND soldiers clustered around the viewing screen.

"Good God. He just countered a counter!" spoke up one of the men.

"'Guillotine Throw…'" murmured a young man in the back dressed in traditional Ninja gear, seemingly familiar with the technique.

"Looks like Greg's met his match," an even younger person with a PSG-1 rifle slung on his back spoke up.

"I hope he's alright," an extraordinarily attractive Indian-Japanese woman said as she peered into the screen.

"Greg's getting back up!"

Back in the digital battlefield, Garland had raced after his flying adversary. After slamming into the invisible wall surrounding the battlefield, Greg slid down swimming in pain. He had been thrown with such force that he could not recover in time, and so took the hit full on. Despite the soreness, he stood shakily and staggered forward.

"I'm… I'm not finished yet!" he yelled as he rushed into the offensive. Punches and kicks rained upon Garland's defense, not one hit breaking through. A low strike brought Garland's arms low, thus giving an opening to his head. Greg took advantage of this breach by lifting his leg high into a devastating heel drop ax kick.

"You are very dedicated, but it takes more than dedication!" Garland snarled as he answered the heel drop with an ax kick of his own. Despite Greg throwing the kick first, Garland's attack smashed into Greg's shoulder long before Greg's foot came down. As a result, the young man crumpled under the mighty blow.

"How did that happen? The kid kicked first!" one of the spectators cried out.

"I see. Greg's heel drop goes straight up, then back down, resulting in two separate moves. But Garland kicked in a circular motion, lifting his leg up and back down in a single move!" one of the more observant soldiers replied.

"Amazing," he summed it up for everyone.

Standing over his fallen opponent, Garland nodded his head in respect to the fighter.

"Sorry, kid, but looks like I win," using his foot like a hook, Garland kicked Greg into the air, only to pummel him relentlessly with rapid-fire punches. The blows seemed to juggle the dark-skinned man in the air, not offering even a moment of respite. A hook to the gut left Greg breathless and dangling in the air by the fist, and the final blow to his head set him flying away, the tiny cubes of data that composed his body scattering. Greg didn't even land when his body completely dissolved. Garland followed soon after, his body dissolving as well.

Several moments later, Gregory Kinezono found himself outside of the VR world, slumped against the console. All the pain and suffering received in the VR world transferred to the real world, but to a lesser degree. Still, the fight left bruises and intense soreness all over. As his vision cleared up, he found Maggie looking over him.

"Well, Greg, you got seriously messed up in there. Any comments?"

"Arrgh," he moaned as he sat straight up. "For a new guy, he hits pretty hard!"

"Ah, well I should have told you. He's not exactly a new recruit."

"Eh? So he didn't come in this month?"

"No, he's been a member of FOX-HOUND since 2007. Garland was on a mission when you and your friends joined."

"Are you serious?"

"She's serious alright, Kinezono," Garland entered the room Greg was in, clad in a black undershirt, army fatigues pants, and boots. "My name's Garland Durev, codename 'Berserker Demon.' I'm also the hand-to-hand instructor for FOX-HOUND."

"Garland Durev? Why does that seem familiar…?"

"I was a mercenary before coming to FOX-HOUND. They called me 'Bloody Hands.'"  
Greg blanched. During his days in the U.S. Navy, he had heard stories about legendary mercenaries, especially the one about the unstoppable force of Bloody Hands. The mercenary was said to be a deadly soldier, a powerful fighter, and a masterful martial artist.

"Aww shit. Now they tell me…"

"Cheer up, Kinezono. You're a pretty good fighter, you just tend to underestimate unknown opponents and you get distracted easily. I doubt you'll have need for my instructing, but you'd make a wonderful sparring partner. What do you think?"

"Sparring partner? Heh heh, all right. Call me Greg, will ya? I get a feeling we'll be working together very often."

"Of course."

"Well, I think I'm gonna take a nap here and get my energy back. You throw a mean punch, Garland."

"You sure you won't need anything?" Maggie asked as she approached the door.

"I'm sure, Boss Lady."

"Sleep well then."

"Sure."

The lights dimmed, and Greg heard two sets of footsteps exit the room. As the thumps faded away, he reached up to his ear. Accessing his Codec, he switched to a private and secure frequency, one that not even FOX-HOUND's advanced electronics could detect. Several rings later, a green-filtered screen popped up with a beautiful blonde woman centered in it.

"Hey, Greggie! You called? How's FOX-HOUND?"

"Hi, Rio," Greg yawned. "FOX-HOUND's great. The people here are nice and the experience is wonderful."

"Are you alright? You look beat up," Rio Kinezono's brow furrowed in worry.

"I'm fine. I just got my ass handed to me in a spar."

"Whatwhatwhaaaat?! Someone beat you?! How is that possible?"

"I challenged Garland 'Berserker Demon' Durev, the resident close-combat specialist of FOX-HOUND."

"Garland Durev? That sounds familiar…"

"Yeah, I thought the same thing, until he told me his mercenary codename."

"Oh?"

"He was 'Bloody Hands.'"

It took a moment for Rio to recognize the codename. "YOU HAVE THAT GUY ON YOUR TEAM?!" the volume rose so high that the Codec's auto-volume adjustment nearly shorted out.

Greg winced as her voice hurt his hearing, "Yeah, but he's a pretty cool guy. The legends are true—he's one hell of a fighter. I think I could get a lot better with him on my team."

"Hmm… well, just be careful around him. Those military stories are not always exaggerations. His FOX-HOUND and mercenary codenames aren't that assuring, either."

"Don't worry, Rio, I'll be fine. I gotta get going, so I'll call you another time, ok? Tell everyone I said 'Hi!' for me."

"Of course, Greggie. See you around!"

The screen blinked away as the connection severed.

Greg sighed as he settled into a more comfortable position. Garland Durev, legendary mercenary and now a FOX-HOUND specialist. He seemed friendly enough, and had a good feeling about him. His aura was strange though, with a hidden aspect of it buried deeply. The psychic soldier shrugged. He would think about it another time.

Time for sleep.

A bond of brotherhood with their fists as their closest friends.

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Subchapter 5: Recognition

In a lonely firearms range, two people busied themselves. One lay prone behind a Heckler & Koch PSG-1 sniper's rifle, the other just entering the room. As the rifleman finished off a twenty round clip of 7.62x51mm rifle rounds, the second person stopped next to him.  
"Very nice shooting you got there, kid. Amazing skills for someone so young," he said as he kneeled down next to the sniper.

The sniper in turn said nothing but slap in a fresh magazine.

"Quiet type, eh? At least give me your name."

"Silent Scorpion," came the muttered reply.

"I see why they call you silent. Your real name, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Alright, I'm sorry. So what's your real name?"

"…" he peered into riflescope.

"You're only, what, twelve? And you're a FOX-HOUND soldier. It's not a nice thing to deny a senior operative a request."

"James Masterson."

"Masterson…" he went silent for a moment to think. "Heh. You've grown a lot since Shadow Moses."

His next shot went wide, thrown off target by his surprise. Looking up from his rifle, James looked at his visitor with surprised eyes.

"How did you know…?"

"Private James Masterson of the Next Generation Special Forces. Scout-sniper, most likely trained under Sniper Wolf herself. I learned all this in Shadow Moses."

"You were there?"

"Yep. Do you remember when you were making a last stand at the residence hall, with only you and your rifle left?"

"Yeah, I was very low on ammunition and food supplies, then one day I woke up to find several full clips of rifle ammo and enough rations to last me a while. Then for a while I wondered why no one approached the hall or said anything over the radio."

"Well then, James Masterson, my name is Garland Durev, codename 'Berserker Demon.' At that time, I was a mercenary hired to clean out the Shadow Moses facility. Before reaching the residence hall for my extraction, I found a young boy sleeping rather deeply with a battered rifle clutched protectively in his arms. I was unable to directly assist, but I left what ammo and rations I still possessed and left it next to the kid. Imagine my surprise that several years later, the very same person lays before me behind a very similar rifle."

"I… see… then I have you to thank for. The rations lasted long enough for the sweeper teams to pick me up."

"Ahh don't mention it. I'll be glad to be of help again. So I hear you're a good knife weilder?"

"Yeah? You could say that. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you would like to spar sometime, anything goes."

"Oh? I might take you up on that offer. I watched that fight of yours against Greg. Anything goes, so I can use a knife?"

"Correct. I'm sure you're highly skilled sniper and knife-fighter, but it always helps to know unarmed combat."

"I think I understand. Reliance on weapons can be a crutch."

"Absolutely correct. What would happen if you were to be disarmed and left bare-handed? You're welcome to join in on the daily training, if you so wish."

"I'll think about it. Is there anything else?"

"No, not really. I'm here to work on my long range shooting."

"I see."

"Yeah, I prefer bolt-action type rifles myself, but a semi-auto can be useful."

"Bolt-actions are more accurate, but are much slower than a semi-auto."

"Yep, and most of the time you only get one shot."

Garland set up his AW Super Magnum in the station next to James, slapping in a five-round clip of .338 Lapua Magnum rounds into the weapon. Working the bolt to load a round, Garland sighted his weapon and adjusted the scope.

"Acquire your target, take your time, but don't spend too much and lose your target," James suddenly spoke up, still peering down his rifle sights.

"Hmm…"

Two rifles fired simultaneously, a perfect shot from both.

A bond of brotherhood behind the rifle's scope.

------------------------

Subchapter 6: Instruction

Two figures bowed to each other, one garbed in a tight black suit with various weapons slung on, the other wearing a black shirt, army camouflage pants, and boots. The one in the Ninja costume suddenly disappeared in a puff of smoke, only to reappear behind his opponent to deliver an open palm to the back. But his opponent had reacted in time and rolled forward out of the strike zone. Two feet shot out in a donkey kick as the man in camouflage pants counterattacked from his roll, only to smash into a log of wood that appeared in another smoke puff.

The two fighters were outside of the main FOX-HOUND complex, in a wooded area that had a clearing large enough for a good fight. With wooden blades instead of steel, they attacked with blinding speed.

"_Dragon Claw Slash_!"

"_Lightning Blade_!"

Two blurs rushed towards each other. With a resounding _clack_, a wooden sword clashed with a long wooden knife. They held that position for several moments, pushing against each other in a power struggle.

"Not bad, Hanabashi," the larger man smirked behind his knife.

"I told you, Garland, call me Riku," the young ninja returned the smirk.

The fighters broke away suddenly, Riku teleporting with a puff of smoke while Garland simply dashed backwards.

"_Bushin_!" a cry came out, and Garland found himself surrounded by five copies of his opponent. Each copy readied a different attack, and then struck. One attacked with two kunai shurikens as knives, only to be grabbed and thrown into the path of another copy attacking with a vicious kick, both disappearing in smoke puffs. A third and fourth copy struck simultaneously, one high and one low. Garland countered by kicking low, his leg sweep tripping the low attacker. Continuing his move, Garland brought his leg high to strike the second one, a "_Whirlwind_" technique that effectively countered the assault. The final copy came down from the trees, his hands grasped together for an overhead hammer blow. Since the third and fourth copies distracted Garland, he was wide open for an attack from above and behind. That theory was crushed when Garland brought his hands up to catch the hammer blow, then redirect the momentum to toss the fifth _Bushin_ hard onto the ground.

_All fake… where's the real one?_ Garland thought as he looked around the battlefield. Something caught his attention, however, and as he gazed at the suspicious object, he suddenly found his body unresponsive.

"What?!" it was as if his limbs were frozen.

"Got you!" Riku came running out from the bushes, a small spark visible in his hands.

"Can't… hold… me… down," Garland muttered as he focused his strength into his mind. "HYAH!" he pushed outward. As if an invisible shell surrounding shattered, Garland discovered that he could move again.

Just as Riku struck forward with his fire-encased fists.

"Heh, you're definitely not a genin," he shifted to the side to avoid one of the attacks. "Not chuunin, either. Definitely jounin."

Reaching his hand out, Garland grabbed the other forearm and pulled it closer, throwing the ninja off balance. A forceful palm blow threw Riku high into the air, practically ten yards into the sky. The former mercenary leaped after him, stopping just below and behind Riku. Hooking his arms under Riku's armpits, Garland brought his opponent upside down into a freakishly fast downward spiral. The velocity and speed of the spin and throw was nauseating, almost blinding to onlookers. Slamming into the hardened ground, Riku landed hard on his neck and upper back, instantly knocking him and leaving an ugly bruise. Fortunately, Garland had held back on the attack—a full powered "_Izuna Drop_" would have shattered Riku's spine and crushed his neck.

An hour passed before the ninja regained consciousness, sore all over his back and neck.

"Itai! What did you hit me with, Garland? A Mac Truck?"

"Heh. Feels like it, doesn't it? That was the 'Izuna Drop,' something I learned from the Hayabusa ninja clan."

"Hayabusa?! You know them?"

"Sorta. I learned ninjitsu from them. Mostly taijutsu, but they did teach me genjutsu and ninjutsu as well. I just don't use those skills in combat. They're pretty useful when it comes to regular life though."

"Huh. How so?"

"For one thing, you're talking to my clone, Riku," Garland's voice suddenly came from behind him, the martial artist leaping out of a tree.

"Wha?"

"Or, you could be talking to the real me, and that guy over there is a fake," the Garland next to him shrugged.

"Pick, 'Drakken.' Which one is real?" both Garlands said at the same time.

"Neither," the ninja said as he stood up. "Both of you are _bushins_."

"Correct!" both of them disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"But if you're not here, then…?" Riku glanced around the woods. Suddenly, the ground beneath him exploded in a burst of packed dirt clods. A strong hand wrapped around his ankle and dragged him into the ground. Luckily, Riku had expected a surprise attack, and quickly performed the hand seals for a substitution jutsu. It resulted in a log of wood being trapped under a mound of soil, Riku hidden in a tree, and a dirt-smeared Garland standing next to the log dispersing the smoke.

"_Kawarimi_. Nice. Okay, in all seriousness, get down here. There's some stuff I want to teach you."

"Really? What can you teach me?" Riku appeared next to Garland, who seemed unfazed at his sudden appearance.

"Two things, actually, and a new weapon for you to use. First, the weapon," the former mercenary reached into a large pouch attached to his belt and pulled out a box. "In here are various types of hollow throwing needles. They're a special kind, with barbs in one end to dig deeply into flesh. If the target tries to yank it out, the flesh is ripped to shreds. And as the hollow pipes are stuck in the flesh, it allows the victim to bleed uncontrollably. Only a professional surgeon can remove one of these 'Vampires,' so choose your targets carefully. Each type of needle has a varying degree of hollowness—some are used as torture devices. Others, to quickly drain the blood out of a target to weaken and eventually kill him or her. Since you throw shuriken rather well, and I don't, I'll give them to you. James is getting a knife version of these things."

"Awesome. What are the other two things?"  
"Special techniques, both of them I learned while training with the Hayabusa clan. The first one is the '_Izuna Drop_.' You've already witnessed first hand at its power."

"Yeah, pretty deadly. And the other?"

"A secret technique that only those with very good chakra or ki control can perform. Your ninjitsu skills tell me you should be able to actually use it."

"What, you can't do it?"

"Oh, I can, it just doesn't fit my style. But it may work for you. It's called the '_Sky Dragon Demon._'"

"And you're gonna teach me all this?"

"Of course. I'm an instructor as well, and I find teaching fun. Besides, all I can do is make you and them stronger."

"Them?"

"Your dragons. Maggie told me you had eight dragons to your disposal."

"That's right…"

"She also told me that they're the spirits of your ancestors, and are actually good conversation?"

"What? How did she figure that out?"

"She's a necromancer, my friend. She can detect, speak with, and control dead spirits. The only reason she can't affect your dragons is because they have power levels way beyond what she can safely control. If she tried really hard, she could probably hold control for a few minutes, then lose it and unleash a fire dragon outside of all control."

"I see…"

"Anyways, let's get started on the throw first. The first step is to be able to throw or knock the opponent high enough into the air…"

The two warriors spent the rest of the day, night, and the week to complete Riku's special training. As Garland expected, Riku learned both techniques quickly and added his own flair to them.

A bond of brotherhood touched by the shadows.

------------------------

Subchapter 7: Band of Brothers

Murphy's Law states that if something really bad can happen, it will. This holds true for even the best laid plans, in which the smallest things could make a mission go awry.

It was supposed to be a simple training mission, with easy targets, easy objectives, easy everything. The point was to get in, complete the objectives, and get out, giving the recruits some experience in actual combat. Rather than the usual unconventional-warfare FOX-HOUND would normally engage in, they were armed similarly to Special Forces members and sent to neutralize a possible terrorist organization in South America. Everything went smoothly until the first bullet was fired by the enemy. After that, everything promptly went straight to hell.

Instead of the untrained terrorists Intel told the team that they would most likely engage in, the opposing forces seemed to have the grace, accuracy, and cutthroat effectiveness of a Special Forces group. As a result, the FOX-HOUND team consisting of Psychic Panther, Silent Scorpion, Drakken, Venom, and Silver Eagle, with Berserker Demon as a senior observer, was trapped and in deep shit.

"Damn it, stupid grenades!" Panther ducked behind a thick tree trunk, avoiding the spray of lethal shards. As good a martial artist as he was, conventional weapons could still kill him easily, and all around him were professional enemy soldiers.

"Suppression fire. They don't know where we are, so let's keep it that way," Venom had the experience to stay calm despite the constant hail of lethal jacketed lead flying around him.

"I really wish I had brought something more protective," muttered Silver Eagle. The beautiful Linn Aramaki, AKA Silver Eagle, had worn a modified version of the Skull Suit. It maximized comfort (as well as skin exposure) in the hot sweaty forests of South American, but it did only that. While she did have a protective vest on and an AN-94 rifle, it was the shrapnel that exploded around her that hurt the most.

Linn Aramaki. Her very presence in a room made men swoon and everyone had their eyes on her. While Garland did appreciate her appearance, he was not as affected as much as other men, such as a certain psychic soldier. She did however prove to be a quick learner and an avid sparring partner. Working together with the young lady proved to be interesting, since her higher speeds forced Garland to work harder. He was even able to teach her some of his special techniques, that is, after Garland ignored the obvious "distractions" Aramaki would provide by accident. Since Linn was trained in Jeet Kune Do as well as other martial arts, the former mercenary became her favorite teacher, calling him "Master Durev" during practices and training.

But right now was not a very good time to reminisce.

Garland did nothing but survey the carnage. Out of all the present soldiers, he alone possessed the highest level of protection. Whereas everyone else was equipped with the standard issue Skull Suit, a tactical vest, and weapons, Garland was garbed in his mercenary armored combat uniform, complete with metal reinforced gauntlets, boots, and protective plates sewn into the suit. Also breaking from the standard, Garland had a Mossburg 590 combat shotgun instead of an assault rifle. Compared to everyone else, Garland was the outcast.

"Venom. Determine approximate locations of enemy soldiers, and apply point fire with Eagle and Panther. Push them down and draw them away from our marksman. Have Scorpion apply sniper fire to neutralize the targets. Drakken, come with me—ninja time," Garland said over the din of gunfire. Drakken slung his advanced FN F2000 over his shouldered and followed Demon into the forest.

"Roger. Panther, set up your auto-rifle by that tree—stay under cover and suppress in my direction," Venom pointed. "Eagle, go with Panther and assist, burst fire only. Scorpion, you have green light. Fire at will."

"Gotcha," Panther hefted the squad automatic weapon: an FN Minimi in paratrooper configuration. He leaned out from his position and squeezed the trigger, releasing long bursts of hot lead.

"Yes," Eagle agreed and kneeled next to the automatic-rifleman, taking advantage of her weapon's special two-shot burst.

"On it," Scorpion had already set up his rifle and was actively searching the foliage for the enemy. As for Venom, he jumped behind another thick tree trunk and replied with his G36C.

Several seconds passed of futile shooting, but the firing did its job. The enemy had ceased to shoot back, the volume of firepower overwhelming and pushing them back. Then suddenly, each of the operators' radios crackled to life. In addition to their Codecs, encrypted radios were issued to allow quick relaying of messages.

"Cease fire—OpFor neutralized. We have flanked the enemy and caught them unawares. The area is secure, but we don't have much time. Get to my position double time!" Demon told everyone.

When the group finally got back together, their provisional commander informed them of some bad news.

"Take a knee, everyone. We found something rather disturbing," Demon waited for everyone to relax slightly. "The OpFor is not the enemy we expected. They are a mix of former military soldiers and even Special Forces. Their uniforms are mixed, but I recognize Spetznaz as some of their badges. I would not be surprised if there are mercenaries here as well. Eyes open at all times, understood? I'll be taking command, with Venom as my second. This mission's gone to hell, and my job as an observer is over. I don't care if Reese gets on my ass for this, I'm bringing everyone back alive."

"With you all the way," Panther gave his leader a thumb's up, a sentiment that was echoed among the soldiers.

"Good. From here on I will refer to you all as Alpha team. Let's move, Alpha. Quickly but quietly. We're FOX-HOUND, not your average Spec. Ops."

Together, they stood and moved, already a band of brothers (and a sister).

Several hours later they reached a clearing in the forest. In the center was a large concrete building and surrounding it were leafy green crops. The forest canopy was false, making the illusion of an uninterrupted rainforest tree line. Since the building also cranked out heat, many thermal cameras on spy planes and satellites were fooled. But for a small strike team of elite soldiers…

"Tch. They didn't expect a small force capable of reaching this far," the team leader muttered as he surveyed the area with his "ODIN" headset. "They're growing opium and marijuana in controlled climate facilities, so this is probably going to be a massive drug bust for us. Scorpion, set up here and observe enemy movements, weapons on hold, understand? I'll give you green light when appropriate. Report any suspicious activity and give us recon."

"Understood," the young man got prone and prepared his rifle, replacing the usual scope with something more suited for reconnaissance work.

"The rest of you, we move at dusk, so get some rest. I'll take first watch with Scorpion."

Dusk seemed to come too quickly. True to his training under Sniper Wolf, Silent Scorpion had held his position for nearly four hours without moving, wide awake the entire time. As the group prepared for their nighttime assault, a quick overview of the mission was held.

"Remember, lady and gentlemen, we are to go in, neutralize all hostile forces, and remove ourselves without the enemy making too much of a commotion. Scorpion will be our all-seeing eye, but he's only one person, so we cannot totally rely on him. Watch yourselves and each other, show them what FOX-HOUND really is, and we'll get back home just fine. Scorpion, any complications walking about?"

"We have guards walking around with night vision gear, but they don't seem to be constantly wearing them. No search lights either. There are enemy snipers on the roof with NVGs as well, but I can take them out without much of a hassle. They're pros, though. Constant radio reports and conversations among guards will make getting in difficult."

"Wonderful. Scorpion, you have green light until we get inside. Keep those guards off our backs."

"Roger," yet, he didn't fire a shot. Smart boy, since shooting now would alarm every guard in the area because of a premature death.

"Pack it up, Alpha. Time to go."

Professionals as they all were, they disappeared into the forest like ghosts into the night.

------------------------

Subchapter 8: "D"

"God damn it! Demon! Get Eagle and get her some aid! Panther, Drakken, full suppression!" Venom, Drakken and Psychic Panther leapt out from their cover and unleashed hell down the hall, three guns spitting fire together. As Berserker Demon rushed in under the cover of ally fire, he prepared a collection of painkillers, bandages, and his knife. He reached Silver Eagle without much difficulty, but the girl was bleeding steadily and messily from a wound in her shoulder, shrapnel wounds on her leg, and a cut upon her brow.

"Hey, little lady, doing alright?" Demon spoke gently despite the carnage around him.

"I'll be fine, but this is gonna leave a scar," in spite of the pain, Eagle took it all with a grimace.

"Not when I'm done with it. You'll be fine, just relax," he soothed and began to cut away the bloody areas. In order to effectively treat her wounds, Demon would have to cut away portions of Eagle's Skull Suit and allow for easy access and cleaning. However this also exposed her more sensitive regions, something Greg did not like, but would have to deal with it—he was of more help by shooting his gun and keeping the enemy off Demon and Eagle.

Infiltration was easy enough, but the inside was what threw everything to complete chaos. Unlike the outside, where former soldiers patrolled the area and provided Silent Scorpion with easy targets, the inside was full of plant workers and professional mercenaries. And they were not your average mercenaries, either. These were all mercenaries like Garland Durev: deadly and ruthless on the job and possessing extreme skills. Because of the groups overall inexperience, they were discovered quickly and soon faced the entire facility's forces. During an escape phase, a few lucky shots pierced Silver Eagle's shoulder and ankle, and threw her off balance, thus creating the current scenario.

Demon had finished extracting the bullets with his knife and applied bandages, covering the wounds as well as wrapping up her exposed body, and then brought the both of them under some protective cover.

"Good. The painkillers will kick in soon, and the scarring will be minimal—if anything, it'll leave thin and faint white marks."

"Thanks, Demon. You're—"

"Shit! Grenade!" he covered her with his body, taking the brunt of the fragmentation device.

"That was close," Eagle sighed, "You saved me again… oh, God." Her eyes widened as they focused on a wicked looking piece of shrapnel buried deeply into her leader's side.

"Ahh, damn that hurts… They're gonna keep chucking grenades at our position, and we can't move like this," Demon winced as he shifted his body, intense lances of pain shooting up his side.

"They're gonna run out of bullets," Eagle couldn't tear her gaze away from Demon's injury.

"Damn it… I swore I would bring everyone back alive…" he hissed as more blood leaked out. "Drakken! Get over here and take Eagle! DO IT NOW!"

The ninja complied immediately, _shadow stepping_ to their position and taking hold of Eagle.

"What about you?" Drakken looked at his teacher and friend worriedly.

"You'll find out. Now get moving!"

The teenager nodded, and in a feat of incredible agility and chakra control, bolted and ran _on_ the walls back into cover.

Demon then reached for his radio and relayed his message, "Cease fire and get back under cover. Don't get in my way."

"What?! Are you insane? You'll die out there!" Venom spat back.

"I know that. That's what I'm counting on…"

"You ARE nuts! What about your promise? Everyone goes home, remember?!" Panther yelled this time.  
"Yeah, and we will."

"What the hell are you planning on doing?" Ahh, Drakken. Still worried.

"My power, my curse. I'll show everyone why they call me Berserker Dem—" he was silenced as another grenade went off near him, his body slumping heavily into the corner he was leaning in and the radio clacking out of lifeless hands.

"NO! FUCK!" Venom screamed as he witnessed his friend's fate. But then, the impossible happened. The Berserker Demon twitched, dead eyes opening to reveal red, and slowly, he stood. An enemy soldier ran down the hall, intent on catching the FOX-HOUND soldiers as they hid just past the corner. He was suddenly stopped as a metal plated hand clamped onto his face. Adrenaline-boosted strength picked up the hapless mercenary, bringing him face to face with the Demon. A sadistic grin suddenly graced his features, and he crushed the soldier's head into a gory mass with that one hand. The bloody fist swung with incredible speed to smash into the concrete wall he stood against, creating a five-inch indent-crater in the shape of his hand, massive cracks spreading out from it.

"GRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" an absolutely terrifying cry erupted forth, sending overwhelming feelings of intense fear and dread to all that heard it. The gunfire stopped, their fingers frozen in fright. The enemy mercenaries did not realize it until it was too late.

They had unleashed the Berserker.

Outside, Scorpion continued his constant visual over the entire facility. Showing great discipline despite his urges, he had yet to fire a single shot, patiently waiting for green light. He knew that if he were to fire whatever and whenever, everyone would die needlessly. His teacher not only taught him how to fire a gun and to be one of the best snipers, but also the importance of following orders and helping his allies. It worried him though, that his comrades had not reported anything since they went in, and those guards seemed to be twice as jumpy as they were.

All of a sudden, a portion of the facility's walls exploded in a fireball of burning gasses. Bodies flew out as if they were thrown and even severed limbs found flight. Men ran out of the building screaming in fear and panic. Of what, Scorpion could not tell. He was delighted, however, when his radio crackled to life.

"Scorpion, we're getting out, now! Shit's hit the fan, Demon is down and Eagle is injured, and we're hauling ass out. You have green light, take them all out!" the sniper recognized the voice as Venom's.

"Yes," he replied and squeezed the trigger once, twice, thrice, four, five times. His clip ran dry, so he swapped it out with a high-capacity magazine; instead of five shots, he now had twenty. His PSG-1 spat out round after round, taking down every target that entered his scope. When he saw four of the five FOX-HOUND soldiers run out, his attention immediately shifted to them, giving the group protective sniper fire. Seeing that they were relatively safe, he packed up and ran down to meet them.

"What's going on? I heard nothing over the squawk ever since you guys went in," Scorpion rejoined his group.

"Demon… he really is a demon," muttered Drakken, looking dazed from the experience.

"Huh?"

"No, that can't be Garland. Not THAT monster!" Panther muttered in disbelief, cradling the bandaged Linn in his arms. "So much anger and hatred…"

Screaming repentance and begging for mercy, a gibbering soldier stumbled out from the building and ran passed the FOX-HOUND group, too frightened to realize that he just ran past his enemies. A blur zipped out just behind him, solidifying into a blood covered Berserker Demon as he landed on top of the running soldier. With a feral snarl, metal hands dug deeply into the man's face, and with a sharp tug, ripped the head completely off, the still-attached spine whipping around wildly. Slowly, torturously, the Berserker's crimson eyes locked on to the FOX-HOUND recruits.

"Oh, God…" Eagle dropped to her knees and promptly threw up all over the ground, severely nauseated by the amount of blood covering her friend.

Although reluctant to do so, the recruits brought their weapons up to bear on the vicious one.

"Heh heh heh, you would shoot even your own ally?" Demon's usual smooth bass was replaced by a dark and hoarse hiss.

"Garland, snap out of it! What's wrong with you?"

"Sorry, but he isn't here now," his blood-smeared face contorted into a wicked smirk.

"Who are you then, if you're not the one we know?" Venom spoke diplomatically.

"Haha… 'D.'"  
"D?"

"Are you deaf? I dislike repeating myself… Hmm… there are still fools alive inside."

"Wait!"

"No. They will all die. Follow me, and die with them," D turned and walked back into the building. Although the recruits were outside, they could easily hear the cries of horror and pain as the Berserker plowed through them all.

Almost thirty minutes passed, then the facility was silent. No screaming, no yelling, no cries for help. Only the crackle of fire and heavy breathing was heard.

"What now? Do we wait?" Panther looked at Venom.

"If the legends are true, he'll come outside to meet us. You can't stop what is unstoppable."

"…Yeah."

And as if emphasizing that point, a single figure walked out of the burning building. First appearing as a silhouette, the image cleared into a familiar face. Slowly, Berserker Demon approached the resting group. He was not surprised when they looked at him with fearful eyes and twitchy trigger fingers.

"Hey guys, sorry about that," he raised his hands disarmingly. "I'm back though."

Understandably, they were lingering in dropping their guards.

He sighed sadly; his body drooped tiredly as breath left his lungs. Their silence was more painful than the most powerful of punches.

"Ah… forget it. Venom, lead us home. I'll stick in the rear."

The recruits looked at each other for a moment, sharing a silent moment, then looked back at the blood-covered man.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but you're the team leader, and I wouldn't trust anyone more than you to show us the way," Venom spoke up.

"You think you can scare us off that easily? Hell no. We're with you all the way," Panther had that friendly yet vicious smirk.

"It's no problem, we all know who you really are," Eagle's smile made it all worth it.

"You have my complete trust, sir," Drakken added his two cents.

"Ah. Thank you very much. None of you realize how relieved I feel," Berserker Demon smiled and nodded. "Alright, FOX-HOUND, we move out now. Pick up is a few miles south of here, and we'll call in for dust off. Let's go."

Not even the legendary Berserker could ruin this bond.

------------------------

Subchapter 9: Debriefing

"So, Mr. Durev. How do you rate each recruit's ability on the field?"

"As a team, their bond is unbreakable. They complement each other very well. I would suggest that they be deployed together should the mission require it."

"Noted. And their individual skills?"

"Venom is a skilled hand-to-hand fighter and a marksman, but his greatest skill is his mind. He is among the best tacticians I've met. When not operating in the field, I recommend that he be placed in support teams or as a mission commander.

"Silent Scorpion is a sniper among snipers—he is the next Sniper Wolf. In addition to his flawless long-range capability, he can also fight very well at close range. However, it would be best for him to receive some urban combat training. At medium range he is the weakest—too close for his rifle but too far for his knives.

"Psychic Panther is fiercely protective of his team, which can be detrimental or beneficial, depending on the situation, but he is very smart, and knows what to do. He is also skilled in close combat, and can work alone or with a team very well. I was told he had other skills as well, but I was unable to witness them. However his long range is lacking, so some extra training is suggested.

"Drakken is a superb stealth fighter and his weapon use is extremely deadly. He can be deployed as a solo operative or in a team. However I suggest more training with the experienced men. He hasn't killed much in his life until recently, and I'm worried about his mental health.

"Silver Eagle is fast. Deadly fast. However just like Drakken she lacks experience. She's a good shot and dependable soldier, as well as a good hand-to-hand fighter, she just needs experience and more training.

"That is all for my report, sir," Garland saluted Colonel Campbell.

"It's great that you completed your mission and brought everyone back home, but I have serious issues with your behavior, Durev," Lieutenant Reese decided to cut in. "You were assigned as an observer, not an active member of their team. Yet you deliberately acted on your own accord to affect the mission. You disobeyed orders, soldier."

"Sir, I did what was necessary. The mission had gone to hell and they needed someone with battlefield experience and familiarity with FOX-HOUND operations."

"Hansen is an experienced soldier, just like you. You should have left it to him to finish the job."

"As true as it may be, I was not about to stand back and watch the team fumble around. They needed a senior officer and a junior officer. Hansen filled the junior spot very well."

"That still doesn't explain why you disobeyed orders!"

"They could have died out there if I just stood back and watched!"

"The OpFor was only terrorists!"

"Terrorists with Special Forces training, and the guards inside were professional mercenaries! The Intel we received from _you_ told us they were just civilians with guns!"

"Shut up! You disobeyed orders and you will be punished for it!"

By now, Reese had jumped out of his chair in a red-faced rage and was close enough to Garland for him to smell his breath.

"And what about the facility? You were to go in, do your job, and get out! Not cause thousands in property damage and the slaughter of everyone in the building!"  
"That was outside of my control."

"Bullshit! You did something, I know it. You purposely did all this shit just to show off, eh, merc?"

"I'm not a mercenary any more. I am FOX-HOUND."

"There's also the matter of a casualty. Aramaki was injured, wasn't she? Why couldn't you prevent that?"

"I am not a bullet shield, sir. It was outside of my control."

"You could have done something! You already took control of the team!"

"What do you expect me to do? Take the bullets for her?"

"I expect you to obey your God damn orders!!"

"A soldier that disobeys orders is trash," Garland started.

"That's right! You are trash and you shall be treated as such!" Reese screamed back.

"But a soldier that obeys orders at the expense of his comrades is worse than trash. I would hate to have you on my team, lieutenant."

"You son of a—"

"THAT'S ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU CALM DOWN!" Campbell's normally subdued voice blasted the two soldiers into silence. "Reese, shut the hell up and sit down. It was your bad intel that got the team into that much trouble. Durev, it's good that you realized the depth of the problem, took control, and brought everyone back home safely while also completing your objectives. But it's also true that you disobeyed direct orders from high command, and you must be reprimanded as such. You lose all leave privileges for the rest of the month, interaction between operatives is to be kept at the bare minimum, and you are required to assist in all training exercises, is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Dismissed."

Garland saluted, turned on his heel, and marched out. As he returned to his room, a voice called out for him.

"Garland! Wait a moment," it was the familiar voice of Maggie Thompson.

"Maggie, I'm being punished right now. I'm sorry, but this entire month I can't do anything. I'm stuck here training everyone and I'm not allowed extensive interaction with other operatives."

"Ah. I'm sorry…"

"Don't worry about it. It'll be over soon enough."

"Hmm, well when you get off that probation, we'll get together again, ok?"

"Yeah."

Her smile would make the days easier for him, even if he did see her very little. And he could wait. He had waited for many years, what's one more month gonna do?

------------------------

Subchapter 10: Rabbit's Crow

2012, five years since Garland's induction into FOX-HOUND, and two years since those recruits joined. And during those two years they gained quite a reputation. As solo operatives, the recruits were efficient and deadly. But as a team, four in particular, they were an unstoppable force that very few organizations could stand against. A team of four was standard policy when it came to team missions, and among the FOX-HOUND soldiers, the "Four Horsemen" were the most deadly. Earning their name due to their cutthroat efficiency, deadliness, and speed, the team consisted of Venom with his strategic mind and wisdom, Psychic Panther and his fierce dedication, loyalty, and strength, and Berserker Demon with his experience, power, and undying determination. The fourth member was actually any of the three remaining recruits, switched in and out depending on the skills necessary for the mission. All together, however, they were the most powerful force in the entire organization.

Then one day, two new people were brought in. Both were teenagers, yet they looked like they had experienced much in life. One boy, one girl, and Riku seemed to be familiar with both of them. The teenagers stood roughly about the same height, about five feet six inches. The boy had short brown hair and bluish eyes, odd for an Asian person. The girl had long teal hair and blue eyes as well.

"Riku, you seem familiar with the new people. Care to introduce me?" Garland said as he approached the trio.

"Ah, of course. Nagi, Tot, this is my friend and teacher, Garland Durev," at that, the soldier bowed to them.

"Garland…? You're one of the legendary mercenaries!" Nagi was quick to point out.

"One man against an army, and he would walk out with just a small scratch," Tot added in.

"Ah, yes, well I used to be. I'm FOX-HOUND now," Garland looked sheepish. "Anyways, I'm here to welcome you two and to test you both in close-combat training. Please follow me."

They entered the expansive training hall that Garland preferred over the VR system.

"As you may know, we also use VR devices for training. Personally, I find it less effective than real life combat, so when you're with me, we fight for real, understood?"

"Yes!" the teens snapped to attention.

"I'm not a drill instructor. I don't care for formalities or titles. Respect me and I will respect you. Now, both of you, come at me with all you got. No holding back! Let me feel your killing intent!"

Without warning, they burst into action, Tot wielding a large Japanese umbrella and Nagi attacking with flying objects.

_I see. A psychic and a specialist fighter… this will be fun…_

================

A week passed, and Garland got to know the newest recruits even better.

Nagi was a nice person to talk with and possessed more wisdom than a person his age would normally have. He and Garland seemed to get along the best, for what reasons no one knew. Between the two, however, they had shocking similarities.

Both had very bad childhoods. As children, they were rejected by other children and looked down upon by parents. They were loners for most of their school life, and they suffered in similar ways. However, Nagi was still young, and the pain fresher than Garland's. The older man, filled with sympathy and understanding for the boy, gave him a shard of reflective glass, saying,

"Nagi. This is a very special piece of a mirror. When the time comes, let a tear fall from your eyes onto the surface, and it will take you where your heart desires. Don't misuse it, however, because it will work only twice for you. Be very careful with it, as it was a gift to me from a departed friend and teacher.

"Now then, let us continue our training. You possess a great power, but your control is unrefined and raw. As you develop your self-control and strength of mind, you will be able to control your psychic powers to a greater extent."

"I understand, Master Durev."

"Usually, having something to focus on helps a lot. Think of something you like, something you have an incredible urge to protect, and keep that picture with you. With that in mind, release your hold on your power little by little."

Nagi breathed deeply, his mind concentrating on a single picture.

"Tot…" he whispered as he slowly released his hold.

A small aura formed around Nagi, gradually growing stronger and brighter. Soon, it had enveloped a good portion of the room, with Nagi calmly sitting cross-legged in the center of it. It was a warm glow, with a soft brightness and calming pulse. But it gradually warped, pulsing more rapidly and wildly as some bad memory crept into Nagi's mind. Soon, there was a veritable firestorm of angry psychic energy.

"Shit. Nagi! Snap out of it!" Garland had reacted too late to the changes, and Nagi was too deep into the trance.

"Sorry, kiddo, but I have to stop you somehow," he whispered and punched Nagi in the head. This brought the boy out his trance, but not before sending a rather powerful shock of psychic energy surging into Garland, the mind's equivalent of a powerful electrical shock.

"Gyraaagh!" Garland was able to stutter out before the shock knocked him unconscious, however lacking the power to shift him to his more dangerous side.

"Ugh… Ow! My head… huh? Garland?" Nagi came to and found his friend sprawled across the training room floor, knocked out cold. "Damn, was it psychic feedback? I'd better check him for any mental trauma…" And so, he concentrated and delved into the unprotected mind of Garland Durev.

Nagi had closed his eyes with Garland's face centered in his vision, and when he opened them once again, he found himself staring down a hallway. It was common to have a "door-lined hallway mindspace," according to many people that claimed to have merged minds, but Garland's was slightly different. The average "mindspace" was clean, neat, with nearly countless numbers of doors lining the walls. However Garland's hallway was splattered with blood. Handprints and streaks lined the doors and walls, so much blood that every surface was dyed dark red. Scars and claw marks slashed up the wooden doors, rusty doorknobs looked close to shattering. The walls were pocketed with countless cracks and indents, and even entire portions of plaster were smashed away. The hallway's lights flickered solemnly, beckoning Nagi forward.

He dared not open a single door, lest he release what nightmares hid behind them; horrid sounds seemed to penetrate the damaged wood. As he walked down the hall, the violence and blood never let up, instead actually appearing to intensify. Finally, after passing countless doors and hearing bloodcurdling screams, he reached the hall's end. A single black door stood ominously before him, a perfect slab of obsidian that had no doorknob. Light seemed to be absorbed into the opaque glass. As Nagi reached for the door, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, a chilling cold piercing his very essence, and an unexplainable terror filled his being. Still, he pushed forward, and upon touching the black slab, he phased through.

Oh, God, how he regretted it.

His vision warped nauseously, suddenly clearing into a single blood-splattered room. It was dark, frighteningly dark. Two shattered windows were to his left and right walls; a glance outside revealed a completely decimated city, destroyed buildings crackling with fire, the asphalt road cracked and pocketed with numerous potholes, and the smoldering wrecks of cars. The sky was a cloudless blood red merging into a starless black. A single ceiling lamp rocked back and forth, flickering its yellow light. The illumination revealed a gruesome sight.

Corpses. Dozens of dead bodies covered the floor, their blood creating a sticky wet feel to the room. Nagi's feeling of nausea intensified.

The lamp rocked to the left, to the right, left, right, left, right. Then it stopped.

And out of nowhere, a man had appeared and stood in the center of the light. He was standing straight up, his blood-soaked clothing possessing an unearthly glow. The combination of wild hair, the position of the light, and his drooped head obscured his face. And as this stranger slowly lifted his face, Nagi used every ounce of his strength and self-control to not scream out in abject terror.

The horrifyingly warped face of Garland Durev looked intently at Nagi with an evil grin, his red eyes seeming to stare straight into the psychic's soul.

"Who…who are you?!" Nagi managed to squeak out in spite of his terror.

"Heheheh," a dark giggle escaped this… monster's lips. He took a step forward.

"You're not Garland! Stay away!" Nagi stumbled back, that feeling of fright intensifying.

"Hehehehahahaha," that laugh would send shivers down even the bravest of men.

"Get away from me!" how could such a demon exist within Garland?

"RRAAAAAAAUUGGGGHHHH!!!" the demon lunged forward, bloody hands reaching for Nagi's neck.

And as if something grabbed him from behind and pulled with incredible might, Nagi shot backwards at breakneck speeds, every door zooming by in a blur.

With a startled gasp, Nagi Naoe snapped out of his delve, his very being shaken. In front of him was a still unconscious Garland, looking as if something never happened. This man, who seemed to be nearly invincible in hand-to-hand, filled with great wisdom, and was a wonderful person to know, had a terrible demon hidden away. Those doors must have hidden Garland's worst memories and nightmares, and that obsidian door… Nagi shivered. He never wanted to face such a horror ever again. And despite all of the trauma and pain, Garland still seemed to live happily and without regrets. It made Nagi's problems seem insignificant. And even though the former mercenary must have lived a life much worse than his own, Garland was still willing to help others with their issues. What was he fighting for? Why was he still fighting? Nagi didn't understand.

"Why? Why do you fight? Even if the whole world turns their back on you?" he whispered.

Why, indeed?

================

"Err… Tot? That's MSG, not sugar—you're supposed to use salt. And I think the water is burning."

"Ahh! Shoot, I knew I should have waited till later!"

A teal-haired teenager rushed through the small kitchen in Garland's suite trying to prepare a simple bowl of rice gruel, leaving a trail of havoc in her wake.

"She's as bad as Akane Tendo," Garland muttered to himself, suddenly thinking back to the day he offered to help Tot cook better. Nagi had told him that Tot wished to be able to cook, but her culinary skills was… lacking. Thinking nothing of it, Garland took it upon himself to teach the girl proper cooking techniques and procedures.

He didn't realize it would be that dangerous.

"Tot, I'm going to visit the bathroom for a moment. Think you can take of yourself without me?" he joked.

"Hai! I'll be fine Garland-san," she smiled brilliantly and proceeded to add cottage cheese to the gruel.

"Eheh…heh…" he really hoped he wouldn't regret it.

A few minutes later Garland returned to discover that his kitchen had become a war zone. Utensils were scattered across the floor, splats of unidentifiable food bits littered the walls, and the pot on the stove was boiling something fierce.

"Tot? Are you here?"

"Haaiii!" her cheery voice came from the living room.

"Why is the stove unwatched?"

"It just needs to simmer a little while, so I'm just leaving it alone."

"Rice gruel? But that takes ten minutes to cook with a boil."

"I got creative and threw in some other ingredients. I'm making chicken and rice stew now!"

"Err… Alright. I'm gonna check on it, okay?"

"That's fine!"

With a wary hand, he approached the violently bubbling pot. As he reached five feet from it, it abruptly exploded in a shower of hot liquid and boiled rice. Like a freakish giant chicken, a blob of… something… rose from it and flapped its rice wings. With a celery skeleton, carrots for eyes, corn as teeth, and rice as makeshift skin/feathers, it screeched shrilly and tried to peck the chef.

"Holy crap!" Garland cried out and grabbed a pot lid and soup ladle, holding it in front of him like a makeshift sword and shield. "Back! Back from where you came!"

"Garland-san, is everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah! Everything's fine!" he swiped at the demonic food, slashing off a piece of celery.

"Are you sure? Do you need me to help?"

"NO! No, I can handle it, thanks!" Dodge to the left, feint to the right, jump the wishbone strike, and attack! A lump of rice splattered lifelessly to the ground, yet the possessed chicken continued to attack. Garland blocked a boiling hot wad of chopped potato with his lid and countered with a ladle thrust of his own. Oddly, the bits of rice collected at the target sight, and immediately went stiff; the ladle struck the hardened armor and bounced off with a clang. However Garland had swung with enough force to bend the kitchen utensil and render it useless.

"Alright you freakish pile of unholy chicken, I'm gonna cut you down to size," he muttered as he reached into the small of his back and retrieved his combat knife.

The bird screeched in defiance and thrust its head out to attempt a bite attack.

"Got you!" Garland stabbed forward with his knife, catching the chicken in the mouth with his knife. It died an unspectacular death as it suddenly lost cohesion and splashed back into the pot and all over Garland's knife and hand.

"Ano… Garland-san? What are you doing?" Tot had come to check up on her dish, only to find Garland covered with her stew wielding a pot lid as a shield and his knife thrust forward, still frozen in his finishing attack.

"Uh… nothing?"

"You're strange, Garland-san," Tot said as she picked up a box from the ground, glanced at its brightly colored letters, then dumped it into the soup pot.

Immediately it began to boil violently again, but instead of a living monster of food rising from the stew, soft chanting seemed to echo from the bubbles. The chanting gradually increased in volume, becoming clearer and clearer as the boiling became fiercer. To the oblivious Tot, it simply sounded like a ferociously bubbling pot of chicken stew with rice.

For Garland, the chanting sounded… dark.

Evil chanting.

Demonic chanting.

Not taking any chances, Garland grabbed Tot suddenly and ran out of the kitchen, kicking open his door and running madly down the hallway.

Moments later, a powerful explosion erupted from the doorway, a stream of chicken stew spilling out followed what seemed to be black fire and an unholy glow.

Down the hallway, Garland and Tot sighed for two completely different reasons. For Garland, he just lost his kitchen and usage of his room. He would also most likely require an exorcism. As for Tot, she was simply saddened at the fact that her boyfriend would not be able to taste her cooking. What a shame…

Something red flew down the hallway, a cylindrical object that collided with Garland and bowled him over completely.

"HURK!" he gasped out as it knocked the breath out of him and sent him sprawling.

"Ooh! What a cool umbrella!" the teenager tried to pick up the red Asian umbrella, to no avail. "Oof! It's so heavy!"

"Urrrgh… It's Ryoga's umbrella. I think you'll have better use with it," Garland said as he picked up the impossibly heavy and dense umbrella. "Use it while training—it'll help increase your stamina and strength as you use it more."

"Cool!" she smiled and took a practice swing with it.

Only to smash it into the wall and demolish a portion of it.

"Oops."

On the other side of the wall, Nagi Naoe lay on the floor unconscious as something unbelievably hard had come through his wall and bashed him in the face.

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Subchapter 11: Mindful Discussion

**I suppose this isn't that bad of a place.**

_That's amazing, coming from you._

**Hey, I'm not all that bad.**

_But yes, you're right. The people here are wonderful and the action ever stops._

**Quite. It is much more exciting than your old job. Except that Reese person.**

_I believe that a mutual feeling among every soldier in FOX-HOUND._

**So you're staying here?**

_What, you don't mind?_

**No, I guess not. I could get used to this place. Especially that Aramaki girl, heh heh heh.**

_Hey, Greg's after her, not us. Besides, what about Maggie?_

**So far she has shown only the truth, but she could always change.**

You're very suspicious of her.

**How could I not be, after the incident with _her_?**

_Don't remind me—I thought I had forgotten about that._

**You know, I remember a question someone asked us once, but we were unable to answer.**

Yeah?

**Why do you fight? It's obvious as to my reason, but what about yours?**

_You can easily read my thoughts and tell me that._

**I know, but I want to hear it from you. And don't give me any of that "to protect others" crap.**

_Heh… I fight… because I do. I may have no real reason to do so ,but I will still fight because others will need me to, and because I want to. Even if the whole world turns its back on me, I will fight for what I believe in. I desire to fight…_

**Desire, eh?**

_Yes. The desire to fight. The desire to love. The desire to win. The desire… to live._

**Heh heh heh… good enough for me…**

End: Bloody Hands.

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A/N: And that is that. Thank you for reading. But don't worry, this isn't my only project…


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